


A Guide to Intimacy with your Demon by A Z Fell

by ximeria



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Discworld References, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Ineffable Wives (Good Omens), M/M, Male Aziraphale (Good Omens), Male Crowley (Good Omens), Mild Kink, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Praise Kink, Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23143441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ximeria/pseuds/ximeria
Summary: "I gave it away," the angel had said, fretting, wringing his hands, believing he had done anything but follow Her blueprints.And behold, She had looked down upon the two figures on the wall and seen a spark that should have technically not existed. The bloom of interest, of likemindedness of recognition of oneself in another person.And the birth of morosexuality, possibly. She would be seeing this from both of them over the millennia, to the point where She could no longer call it an aberration, but rather a well-worn habit.Or an angel is trying to ease his/her/their demon into intimacy[0.0]0.0Please note that this is only a guide for angels who have set their eyes on a demonic partner.Return to text
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 118
Kudos: 183





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This would not exist or be the length it is if not for Meinposhbastard, ever the hoarder of words and Master Beta. You know which parts are your fault and I hope you will accept my humble apology in regards to all the blocking I did (cock-blocking in general, wing-blocking, lick-blocking - did I forget anything?).
> 
> Please know that this fic is more or less done, save for a few tweaks and edits meaning that I'll probably pop chapters up once or twice a day. Tags have been added to cover the whole story, not just the currently available chapters.

A lot of misconceptions arose when the world failed to end. She had never considered it set in stone or, indeed, written anywhere. She was also aware that Her angels had gone a little extreme in their attempts to assign order to chaos.

Something She could have told them to not bother with. If She still spoke to them. For a moment, the barely-there moment of a star dying and throwing its final bursts of light and life through space, She considered if perhaps She should set up lines of communication again.

However, this was what She had planned, to set Her creations loose and for Her angels to watch over them. However they took care of this job, was not for Her to dictate - Someone had to deal with the bigger picture. The angels were there for the details. As were the demons (just the inverted negative details). The humans only had it half right with the 'devil in the details' saying. For truly nitpicky details, one needed an archangel.

Archangels were the top of middle management. They had to keep Faith™ and Belief™ in Her for it all to work, or at least for themselves to work. She had foreseen more than a few things, including the spanner thrown in the works by a principality and a demon. All choices had more than one possible outcome, and She would be lying (which She would never) if She didn't consider the whole post-Armageddon quite interesting.

What She had not taken into account was one of Her angels losing faith. In himself more than in Her, possibly, but a loss of faith nevertheless.

No, no, not the principality - his faith in Her was as unwavering as ever, and as long as this was the case, he would never fall from Grace. Something She knew Her archangels had failed to acknowledge.

No, the angel in question, who had seemed to have lost his faith, was none other than the Archangel Gabriel. A stickler to his own kind or order in a clean desk kind of way. Even if it meant sweeping stuff off said desk and ignoring them. He was at times quite ruthless in his pursuit of what he felt was Right™.

As it was, the inner offices of Heaven were in a tissy, as their Commander in Chief had gone, for all intents and purposes, AWOL.

Now, the question would be how the remaining archangels would deal with this. Quite easy to foresee, really. Step one: make sure no one outside the most inner office knew of Gabriel's disappearance. Step two: start looking for anyone who might know something or someone who would be capable of getting such information.

And, of course, Hell could not catch wind of this. As much as upstairs and downstairs now had an arrangement [A.1], one did not let the enemy (regardless of any ceasefire) know that one's leader was missing.

All this cloak and dagger business, however, would draw the attention of Hell eventually, especially once Heaven decided that if Gabriel wasn't in Heaven, and nothing indicated he was in Hell either (they'd never be able to conceal their gloating), they'd be looking elsewhere. Nothing drew attention like Heaven trying to open communications with an exiled principality and his demonic roommate - well nothing short of setting the world on fire anyway.

* * *

A.1Not to be confused with the Arrangement(TM) (past) between a principality, Guardian of the Eastern Gate(TM), and a demon, Original Tempter (TM), Serpent of Eden.Return to text


	2. Chapter 1

Crowley would be hard-pressed to explain exactly why he was suddenly a near-permanent fixture in the bookshop. Well, he _knew_ his own reasoning, but it wasn't something he could just say to anyone, least of all Aziraphale, should the angel ever ask.

Which he thankfully didn't. There was the occasional scrutiny, the side-eye, the weighing, and at those times Crowley would be lying if he didn't feel unease stirring in the pit of his stomach, a drop of sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades, causing him to shiver.

Settling on the couch in the back, Crowley imagined his shoes off [1.1]. He could hear the soft tones of Aziraphale's voice somewhere in the front, probably trying to deter a customer from making a purchase. It would be so much easier if the angel never actually opened the store, but then again, it wouldn't be a store anymore, would it?

Pulling his feet up onto the couch, he leaned back against the armrest and stared unseeingly at the rows upon rows of books, walls of books. If he was quite honest with himself -- which he tried to be because if he wasn't honest with himself, then who would be? -- yes, if he was honest with himself, he could admit that he was loathed to leave the store _and_ Aziraphale out of sight for too long. While it had been a few months since the Armageddon had failed to happen, Crowley still didn't trust either side to really leave them alone.

Besides, he liked Aziraphale's company now that it didn't have to be a secret anymore and their clandestine meetings had become destine. Well, that wasn't a word for it, was it? They could have lunch without giving a damn about anyone knowing and reporting back to their offices.

There was that little heaviness in his chest that he knew he'd eventually have to address, but it would keep for a while longer.

It had kept for nearly six thousand years.

It wasn't so much uncomfortable as it was like an old friend, always there, just behind his left shoulder, just under his heart. Always there to take away his needless breath when Aziraphale smiled at him.

He was torn, though. Staring at the spine of a book so hard that it was possible it would catch fire. An overlaying image of flickering flame distorted his vision for a moment and Crowley had to blink hard and fast to clear his eyesight. He twitched. No, no fire, no fire in the bookshop, once had been bad enough.

The pit of his stomach descended even deeper, twisted itself up, filled with acid and hellfire. He felt like he was going to throw up any moment. Swallowing hard he breathed through it, tried to remember all those damned pieces of advice he's come across on the internet on anxiety and how to deal with it.

His vision returned to normal. One fire in the bookshop had been the end of the world for him. He wasn't even considering Armageddon as bad as that. Crowley's own personal end times.

Rubbing the back of his head, he pushed the images away. The flames hungrily eating through paper and ink, cloth and wood. Making a face, he forced his breathing to stop. If he wasn't breathing, he couldn't smell the non-existent smoke.

A lie. It was always there, hung in his memories like warped stars in the night sky of his mind. Even when he wasn't looking, even when he wasn't breathing, the scent of burning books would be there when he was in the bookshop.

Yet, there was no other place he wanted to be. There was no other place he felt remotely as safe as he did here.

Crowley focused on the familiar voice - even if he didn't hear the words. Aziraphale's voice always calmed the panic, pushed the scent of burning away until it was an uncomfortable memory in the back of his head.

Either Crowley was here, where he felt safe, or he wasn't with the angel, correct? If he followed his urge to run, to flee what he didn't want to face, he'd be halfway out of London by now. But fleeing would mean leaving Aziraphale. And that caused a whole different kind of anxiety. He couldn't. If he didn't see Aziraphale frequently, he'd start wondering if the angel was okay, if he was still around. The thought made his chest contract as if _he_ was the one encased in the crushing coils of a giant serpent.

A noise from the front of the shop made him listen. Yes, he could hear Aziraphale and the angel was close enough for him to feel him as well. The angelic aura that was so familiar to him.

The focus was exactly what he needed. Aziraphale was his anchor and he would have to endure being in surroundings that did not, as Marie Kondo would say, spark any joy (what an understatement - all it sparked was a load of anxiety!). However, he couldn't very well ask Aziraphale to move into his Mayfair flat. It was barren save for his plants, after all - and they would keep, for now. They knew better than to wilt just because he wasn't there to take care of them for a few days.

He'd stay because leaving was out of the question.

However, he could orchestrate their outings. He had yet to shoot wrong in his choices of places to take the angel out for food. Perhaps the Savoy would be good for a revisit? Aziraphale quite enjoyed their desserts and Crowley in turn enjoyed the angel enjoying the sweet treats.

* * *

The Savoy's dessert was, as always, magnificent, but Aziraphale still felt like something was missing. Normally these outings with Crowley were the highlight of his day, and today wasn't really any different! But something was simply… missing.

It wasn't the setting itself that made him feel this way, and most certainly his company lacked nothing. No, it was a feeling that kept trailing after him wherever he went. The bookstore, Soho, London, the Ritz, the Savoy, the little diner down the street, St. James' Park.

They were all achingly familiar, safe spaces. And as long as he had Crowley with him, he knew his friend was as safe as he could be.

Safe spaces.

It all boiled down to how little he'd dared change over the past few centuries. Any leniency towards change he'd poured into the bookshop; his heart and soul. Because he couldn't very well put it where he'd truly wanted, now could he?

He caught the raised eyebrow from Crowley who was savouring a coffee that was possibly darker than his wings.

"Something the matter, angel?" he asked, the soft lilt to his voice swirling like the darkest chocolate through hot milk.

Aziraphale shook his head. "Nothing at all, my dear, nothing at all. Just woolgathering."

Feeling stale.

Aziraphale caught himself before gasping in realisation. Everything he had with Crowley was so familiar, but some of it was new as well. The openness when out and about, when talking, when enjoying each other's company in silence. And this newness had cracked the finish on his life hadn't it? The shiny, hard surface of his habits, his battle to keep all new things out of his little bubble of familiarity, of familiar surroundings.

It would need to be pondered on some more before he could even hope to put it into words and share it with Crowley. Was it possible Aziraphale himself was chafing and needed change?

Was it possible that the bookshop was no longer big enough to contain him? To bring him joy? Had he outgrown the space? He'd surely never stayed in the same place for so long before, put down roots.

But Crowley obviously felt at home in London, in the bookshop. He spent most days of the week there now, had, since the Armageddon, and quite frankly, Aziraphale was afraid to rock the boat. While he was perhaps yearning for more space, a different space, he could not risk removing the place that seemed to bring such calm to his friend.

Oh, how to even begin such a conversation? Most days, Crowley was a creature of logic, but upon becoming emotional, he could be quite unpredictable.

He would have to ponder upon it for a long time before even considering sharing it. Perhaps he first needed to consider what _he_ wanted to change? Scenery, yes, and while he still loved London and Soho, the city was getting louder by the day, more crowded and while it had been enjoyable having a place for his books for so long, he felt little joy in spending his opening hours trying to deter people from making any purchases. He still loved his books, his misprinted bibles, his first editions with their odd dedications, more than a few of them to him.

It was time for some good old fashioned introspection. And he'd have to be careful of how he went about it, because Crowley was, after so many thousand years, quite attuned to his moods and habits.

* * *

1.1Unlike Aziraphale, Crowley didn't 'wear' anything. Not to say he was in a constant state of undress, for he was most certainly not. But shoes, clothes, accessories all just _existed_ because he expected them to.Return to text


	3. Chapter 2

For another month, Crowley carried on and told himself that he was happy, that _Aziraphale_ was happy, but he kept catching the angel watching him with an indecipherable look on his face. Crowley had yet to figure out what it meant. As it were, he'd occasionally run to his flat to gather his wits and water and yell at his plants. And that was all it was.

The flat just wasn't home anymore if it ever had been. Crowley knew he'd originally settled in London because Aziraphale had. It had been a convenient lie too. Keep an eye on the opposition, have a base of operations.

Looking around the cool and dark flat, Crowley twisted his lips into a mirthless smile. It was merely a place for him to store the few things that meant something to him. The things, at least, that weren't Aziraphale. Because he couldn't keep the angel here. He'd wither like a plant denied water and light.

Anything in this place that meant anything could be moved. Not that Crowley had any idea whereto. There wasn't room at the bookshop, and very little of his would fit in with the decor anyway.

Well, the plants might add a little oxygen to the stale and still air, but even picturing his own things among Aziraphale's felt strange. Like he was contemplating something sinful. Which was even stranger, because as sins went, mixing possessions wasn't exactly high on the list.

Not compared to some of the more vivid sinful thoughts that Crowley had had over the years, mostly buried as fast as they surfaced. At the end of the day, he had to be able to face Aziraphale without his cheeks burning and his mind supplying the most fascinating, if obscene, images.

So he didn't. He sometimes brought them out when he was alone, looked at them, flushed and put them away again. If he wanted to stay in the angel's good graces, he would have to walk the straight and narrow.

Crowley nearly left the flat as it was - he'd checked on the plants, given them a good, long speech that would last at least the week. And he wouldn't quite allow himself to look too deeply at his own reasons as he swung back to the plant room and selected two, fairly small specimens.

Aziraphale wouldn't notice. [2.1]

* * *

While Crowley was busy yelling at his plants, Aziraphale was taking his time, considering his options. The bookshop had felt empty when Crowley had left to go back to his Mayfair flat. It happened so rarely and Aziraphale had to admit that it was possible he was growing a little too attached to the demon.

But then again, who wouldn't?

So Aziraphale was walking through the streets, trying to get his thoughts to flow a little easier. He turned a corner and stopped, took a step back and looked again. He could have sworn he'd just caught sight of Gabriel out of the corner of the eye. However, when he looked again, he thought perhaps he must have been wrong. There was no one there and no traces of a Heavenly aura.

Shaking his head, he returned to his thoughts and his wandering through the streets. Then he came to a stop, staring at the window of a realtor's office and showroom.

Aziraphale felt positively out of his depth as he entered the place. He wasn't even sure why he was there, or why it made his heart run like mad and his palms sweat. It wasn't one of the large, airy places that one would find on the main streets. The ones where you might feel like you'd entered somewhere you most certainly couldn't afford anything. No, this was a nice little place, images of properties with their small blurbs of description underneath them spaced out on the walls, divided by carefully calculated distances. Not too close to be cluttered, not too far apart to say there weren't enough to choose from.

The young lady behind the desk stood to meet him. They normally had people come in on appointment, but because Aziraphale didn't even consider this, of course today the woman wouldn't mention it, not once. It wouldn't even cross her mind that this was anything out of the ordinary.

She held out her hand. "I'm Irine, how may I help you?"

A weight dropped from Aziraphale's shoulders. He'd felt terribly tense from the moment he'd stepped in, knowing that he was embarking on an entirely different kind of voyage. When Irene introduced herself so informally, he took it as an invitation to be informal as well. Heaven was a formal place, and he'd never felt like he'd fit in. Informality like this, put him so much more at ease. It was one of those wonderfully human things - the ability to put others at ease. Offering her a small, but sincere smile, he introduced himself.

"Yes, hello, my name is Mr. Fell, I am looking for something a little out of the ordinary," he said, taking her hand and noticing how perfectly manicured her hands were, apart from that little bit at her left pinkie where the nail polish was chipped ever so little. But her handshake was perfectly balanced, not hard enough to attempt intimidation, but firm enough to let him know that she was all about business and professionalism.

So, for the next half hour, he poured over what the place had to offer.

None of it was right, though. None of it. All too modern, too close to other people, not enough space, not enough privacy to stretch wings and be themselves.

"I do apologise," he said, "for taking up your time. I fear that perhaps I am not so sure what it is that I am looking for."

She gave him her most professional smile. [2.2]

"Perfectly alright, Mr Fell, few people find what they look for on the first try."

"Ah, yes, I guess," he said. "But perhaps what I am looking for is somewhere a little more out of the way, a little more private, and not too… modern, perhaps."

She hesitated. "We do have a place in the South Downs," she began, then frowned. "But the house has little in the way of modern amenities, I'm afraid. And while the foundation is as sturdy as the day it was built, the house does need a caring hand."

Aziraphale perked up. "Nearest neighbours?"

"More than a few miles," she said, "and the nearest shopping opportunity is a good fifteen miles away."

Aziraphale felt his heartbeat a little faster. Was this perhaps it? Modern amenities could be done with miracles and repairs just as much. "Might I inquire about the size of the property?"

She nodded and found the relevant file for him. "It is a little on the big side for one person, especially considering how far from the nearest neighbour it is."

"Oh, I hope I won't be there alone," he said, looking at the photographs and noticing that the house _was_ fairly big, two stories - and any extra space could be added by 'other' means as well. He looked at the floor plan. Room enough for them both to be happy.

Did he dare do this? Without asking Crowley first?

For the first time in forever, Aziraphale made a choice without dithering and overthinking. A spur of the moment decision. If nothing else, it could be a place to vacation. At first. And later, perhaps, more.

"I'd like to purchase this place," he said, voice never wavering, heart giddy with the possibilities.

Of course, afterwards, he'd have to tell Crowley.

Somehow.

* * *

Somewhere, a cottage felt a shiver in its foundation. It had seen better days, it most certainly did not have what one would consider state of the art in modern amenities. But it had a heart, and a soul, the way old buildings would sometimes develop if allowed enough quirks, squeaks and other strange sounds.

It felt a disturbance in the fabric of time and space. It hadn't simply been purchased, but purchased by someone special. Someone who wanted a _home_ and not just somewhere to go on vacation twice a year and rent it out on Airbnb to horrible people the rest of the time.

The cottage sighed, its beams creaked and the floorboards rattled. The ghost of the idea of a wine cellar formed and reality bent just a little more.

Somewhere in the South Downs, a cottage held its metaphorical breath.

* * *

2.1In this, Crowley would be wrong. Aziraphale always noticed such changes. He had a sixth sense for things out of place. He had to, with customers being what customers were, and because his best friend had a trickster's habits.Return to text

2.2Little did he know just how many clients wasted her time on a daily basis. At least this one had impeccable manners. Any person in service jobs, retail etc would tell you that manners and a smile could get you the world of service.Return to text


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale makes a new friend and Crowley has an unexpected run in with an archangel.

Crowley parked the Bentley as close to the bookshop as he could get away with. He'd normally just miracle himself a spot for parking the car illegally, but today he was in a fairly good mood and didn't mind parking on the sidestreet.

He'd been back to the flat in Mayfair and not only had his plants been flourishing, but he'd also handpicked a couple of the saplings he'd replanted a few weeks earlier. He'd been experimenting with the dragon trees and while he normally favoured the plain green plants, he'd managed to breed two different ones of this family, one with the red edges to the leaves and one with white, nearly silver edges. The symbolism, which he hadn't consciously aimed at to begin with, wasn't lost on him [3.1]. But they looked perfect together and he'd decided, when he'd realised this, that they would go to the bookshop. He'd bred them stronger and hardier than any of his other plants. They would have to be in order to survive in the dry air of the bookshop - he'd have to be the one to remember to water them. Another excuse to stay a little longer.

He'd even been out shopping at the garden centres for the perfect pots. It had taken some to find the right kind and in the end he'd actually found it in a car boot sale he'd happened to pass by. He hadn't meant to stop at the car park, but a thought had sparked in his mind that a car boot sale might yield something that would please Aziraphale. So he'd pulled in.

It had been the usual second-hand stuff that wouldn't temp anyone, but he'd come across a selection of pots that were perfect. Terracotta pots in the right size with very little embossment, only stylized 'rope' looped around the top of them.

Perfect.

And he'd set them up for a quick transfer miracle when he'd made room for them at the shop. Aziraphale probably wouldn't even notice and the plants would know better than to not do as they had been told. To grow big and green, strong and beautiful and be part of the bookshop, be part of Crowley in Aziraphale's space.

So all in all this was one demon having a damned good day. Right up until someone grabbed his arm and dragged him into an alley. Crowley opened his mouth and readied himself for a fight until he saw who had accosted him, who'd pushed him up against the rough brick wall, hands fisted in the lapels of his jacket.

Adrenaline coursed through his human body and Crowley sent an apologetic last thought to Aziraphale, because he didn't expect to survive.

"Why?" growled Gabriel, eyes wild and his clothes less immaculate than the last time Crowley had seen him.

Crowley blinked a couple of times, trying to give his brain time to reboot, to allow enough of the adrenaline to go down so that he could process enough thoughts to _comprehend_.

And maybe not get discorporated in the middle of Soho by one archangel looking like he'd tipped over the edge a while ago. His hair wasn't as well coiffed as usual, his eyes wide and there were possibly even bags under his eyes. His skin was pale and unhealthy-looking. Not exactly the stellar look that Gabriel had always sported in the past. Last time Crowley had seen him, in Heaven when he'd been posing as Aziraphale, Gabriel had been every inch the overstyled bastard asshole that he'd expected.

Crowley tried to buy himself a little time, anything to survive just a little longer. "Sorry, wot?" he managed, his throat no longer constricted with panic. Well, a healthy fear of a strong opponent still made it feel as if someone had a strong grip around it, but at least he could squeeze a few words out.

Gabriel put a hand in the middle of his chest and pushed him a little harder against the wall. Crowley was, at least by now, used to the strength of a principality, and getting pushed around by an archangel was a lot less forceful. Not that he even wanted to contemplate getting pushed around by Gabriel in the way that Aziraphale did.

No. Bad thoughts, bad _mental images_. Crowley gave Gabriel's shoulder a push to make the archangel stagger back a little, enough to allow Crowley to right his clothes. This was a little unexpected.

"Why does She speak to you? Why does She listen to _you_?" Gabriel's voice broke a little. "You're a Fallen, and Aziraphale should be as well!"

"Whoa, hold it there, you dick," Crowley growled and took a step forward, watching with no little amount of satisfaction as Gabriel took a step back. This was really getting beyond weird. "No one touches _my_ angel!" Crowley was too busy with being incensed to really consider the possessive.

"That's just it!" Gabriel all but cried out, desperation evident in his eyes. "Even with his deeds, She's been quiet, we can't make him fall without Her approval!" Gabriel stepped forward, obviously aiming for menacing, but he looked like a strong wind could knock him over. "I have to know what you've said to Her to get Her on your side! To keep him safe!" [3.2]

This struck Crowley right in the chest. They couldn't. They had no way of making Aziraphale fall without Her. Didn't mean they couldn't hurt him, but falling was out of the picture at the moment then. He hadn't given it too much thought, especially considering that he was fairly sure She was aware of the shenanigans Aziraphale had gotten into over the years and none of it, even stopping Armageddon, hadn't caused him to fall. Furthermore, he hadn't _wanted_ to consider it. What Hell could do to someone like Aziraphale if he ever Fell.

"You're an idiot if you think She listens to me, Gabriel," Crowley said quietly. For all that he was fairly sure he could handle Gabriel, pushing an archangel too far might not be smart either. "Aziraphale hasn't heard from Her either, for a very long time." And he knew the angel, while he rarely mentioned it, felt the absence.

Gabriel huffed and looked about to blow, then popped out of existence with the noise of a child's soap bubble bursting.

Crowley leaned back against the wall and eyed the sky. "If you're listening, God, you might want to check in on your angels." He pushed away from the wall, about to head back on his way to the bookshop. He paused for a moment, another look heavenward. "And thank you. For him, for his unending love. I know I don't deserve him, but I'll fight for him nevertheless."

With that, he slinked back into the street.

* * *

Aziraphale was still trying to find a way to break open the conversation. The important one. The one about the spur of the moment purchase he'd made. The one that had walls, a roof and a small wine cellar [3.3]. That 'little' (frivolous) miracle he'd used to create a shortcut to, that went through his wardrobe upstairs. [3.4]

He was fairly sure that Crowley knew he was keeping secrets (again) but as always, he gave Aziraphale the time and space he needed. Which also sort of bothered Aziraphale, because he wasn't sure he could ever be that lenient with the demon - secrets would fester and grow to a chasm if they weren't careful.

Yet, here he was, keeping a rather big one because he was worried about Crowley not being happy to leave the bookshop behind, the Mayfair flat and London. Aziraphale himself was happy to do so - he could move his books with him and this way he'd no longer have to worry about people trying to purchase his beloved books.

The only thing that bothered him was giving up the building. Not that he had to, but what other purpose had it had for him than for a bookshop? And a home. He reached out and touched one of the columns. Almost alive, wasn't it? After so many years. Perhaps he should keep the building, but do something new with it? 

He just didn't know what yet, but for now he'd hold on to it.

It was, by now, a familiar mental dance to him. With Crowley out and about and not close to serving as a diversion, Aziraphale found himself rehashing his inability to be as open with Crowley as he wanted to.

About other things as well, not just their living situation.

It wasn't the norm to be disturbed during these afternoon musings, especially not with the sign on the bookshop that said it was closed and the door was locked. Yet, still, there it was, a knock to his door. Just enough to be heard, as if the owner of the hand doing the knocking was not entirely sure whether or not they wanted to be heard in the first place.

Knowing full well that Heaven wouldn't bother knocking and a little unsure what the protocols of Hell were, Aziraphale waited for a moment while another knock sounded through the otherwise quiet bookshop.

Taking a deep breath, he walked to the door. "Sorry, we're closed."

"Yeah, um, eh-" someone said on the other side. Not a voice that was familiar to Aziraphale. "I don't know the protocol for this, or even if there is one, but I'm looking for the demon Crowley?" The latter was added with a lilt at the end, as if the person wasn't entirely sure that he was indeed looking for Crowley or truly wanted to find him.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to let him know that Crowley wasn't there. Then thought for a moment, stalled. What if this was what they were here to find out? What if he admitted to being on his own, would he be able to hold his own against whomever was on the other side? To fight off someone…

Aziraphale sniffed the air. Demonic. His visitor was from Hell.

"Why are you asking for him?" Aziraphale was fairly sure that Crowley hadn't had any Hellish contact much like he himself hadn't had any Heavenly since the whole Apocalypse had failed to happen.

"Well, see, um, everyone knows, that is, everyone downstairs knows that no one above or below knows as much about Earth and humans as the Demon Crowley does."

Aziraphale's wariness vanished like dewdrops in the morning sun. "Excuse me," Aziraphale said, more than a little rankled by this. "I have been on Earth for as long as he has, and while I may not dress the part, I know the humans we have lived among and currently walk the streets with." He truly hadn't expected to have to defend himself like this when he'd started the day.

Making a decision, Aziraphale unlocked the door with a snap of his fingers and stepped back, watching a short, dark curly-haired young man, well, demon, watching him with wide almost fearful eyes.

Good, at least they had some kind of respect for him.

"This is a house of knowledge, my good demon," he said. "I believe you will find that there is little you can't learn from a book." 

"Eric," the demon replied, breathlessly, the look in his eyes going from fearsome to almost reverential. "Books, yes." This was followed by a small high pitched noise in the back of his throat.

Aziraphale stopped in his tracks where he'd been gesturing for the demon to step away from the door. He'd intended to step outside and have this conversation there. The reaction to the idea of books had completely derailed him. Aziraphale took in his visitor. Not overly dangerous looking. Not nearly the level of demonic energy coming off him that Aziraphale was used to from Crowley.

Eric. How very ordinary. And perhaps a little refreshing, if Aziraphale was honest about it. A demon named Eric wouldn't have to explain his name to humans, at least not with the present naming conventions.

"I-" Aziraphale hesitated for a moment. "Do you like books?" Crowley would barely touch them and only when he was bringing one for Aziraphale as a gift or when he was moving some of Aziraphale's books from the couch in the back of the store to make room to sit.

"Yes, very much," Eric admitted with a timid smile. Fair was fair, he was probably expecting Aziraphale to smite him. Not that it was something Aziraphale had done much in his six thousand years on Earth, beyond threatening Crowley with it occasionally - and even then thwarting was so much more fun.

The demon's face fell for a moment. "Not that books last long in Hell, too damp an environment. Have to make do with ebooks." [3.5]

"Ah, yes, well," Aziraphale agreed. He'd only been there once, in the guise of Crowley, and it had indeed been cold, wet and cramped what he'd seen of it. He doubted the bits he hadn't seen would be any better to keep books in. Dry and clean really would be the best environment to keep books in if one wanted them to survive for any length of time.

They stared at each other for a moment and Aziraphale huffed out a small laugh. This demon was fairly low in the hierarchy, if he was to judge from the lack of power that would normally emanate from Hell's denizens. Crowley was, in many ways, so very different. His power was like the gentle flow of the river, the deep sea with its treacherous whirlpools. Always buried well under the surface. [3.6]

This one wasn't terribly deep, but that didn't mean it wasn't worth being on one's best behaviour. If nothing else, he might be able to get some intel on what Hell was currently up to.

But yes, manners first.

"I am Azi-" he began.

"Yes, the principality Aziraphale," Eric interrupted, looking for all intents and purposes like an overexcited puppy.

"Ah, well-" Aziraphale said, grasping for something to say. He had no idea what Hell knew about him, apart from his involvement with Crowley.

"I never thought I'd stand this close to an angel and survive," Eric admitted, a little sheepish. "I don't know if you remember me, but I was the unfortunate one to deliver the hellfire for your execution. I'm sorry about asking if I could hit you."

"How about we have a cup of tea and you can tell me why you are looking for Crowley and what it is you want to know about - I have, after all, been here for as long as he has," Aziraphale added. He was a little bit thrown by this. Considering that it must have been during Crowley's time posing as him in heaven while Aziraphale had been busy splashing holy water at demons in hell. "And no hard feelings - we all had our orders." He'd have to tread carefully to not give anything away about their little trick.

"Yes, true," Eric replied. He eyed Aziraphale's outdated wardrobe, but wisely didn't say anything about it. "You don't follow yours anymore, though, right?"

His manners, at least, were plenty better than Crowley's, and Aziraphale had put up with that for a while now, hadn't he? "Well, yes, no, I guess I don't." Aziraphale felt a little out of sorts, but alas, such was the situation dealing with demons.

And this was how, two hours later, when Crowley came back, he found his angel having tea with a demon that wasn't him.

* * *

  
  


3.1Crowley had never really taken to the human way of flower language. To him it depended greatly on whatever connection the plant or flower had to a specific memory. Or when something was visually specific like a dragon tree with leaves edged in a colour not unlike his own hair while the other had a significant resemblance to Aziraphale's pale locks.

Crowley would eviscerate anyone who would claim he was a romantic. The Bentley, being a the bastard it was, would just find this the perfect time to turn the volume up:

_"I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things  
We can do the tango just for two  
I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings  
Be your Valentino just for you"._ Return to text

3.2Gabriel, being who he was, was woefully unknowing about the strength and durability of a certain principality's Grace and Faith.Return to text

3.3Which hadn't been part of the original blueprint, but as the house had been sitting without a proper owner for a while and this one had not only taste, but also liked it as it was, it had been quick to accommodate the angel's wishes. Said angel just figured the house was as the house was: Perfect in any and every way.Return to text

3.4Aziraphale had never taken to CS. Lewis' stories, but he'd still read them. He'd had more than enough of the bickering between messieurs Lewis and Tolkien.Return to text

3.5This tormented Eric quite a bit. He'd first come across books in the form of old manuals for printers in Hell's IT department. And if you were wondering what Hell's IT department might be like, surely you can imagine it. Just know that the printers always jammed, the computers were so slow they ran backwards and the blue screen of death was the rule more than the exception. Also, this was where the standard question came from: "Have you tried switching it off and back on?"Return to text

3.6Crowley had always been the smarter one of the lot. Which had eventually also been his downfall. His insatiable thirst for knowledge.  
  
She had been sad to see him fall, but had known that in the long run it would benefit Her plan.  
  
His ability to think and adapt had meant early on he'd learned to smooth his demonic presence and aura to be less obvious. Though it hadn't been the aim to fit in, but Aziraphale kept making that face of having smelt something unpleasant when they spent time together and Crowley would do anything to be allowed close to his angelic counterpart. That it served him in order to hide his true strength and nature from prying eyes was just a plus.Return to text


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Crowley and Aziraphale kiss, things escalate and Aziraphale wonders if he's going too fast for Crowley, while Crowley is just a mess. So all around just your usual run of the mill miscommunications._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're not quite at the point where it rates E, but they're getting there!

Crowley swung through the bookstore doors, the place, as always, admitting him without any hesitation. Always welcoming him.

It made Crowley feel just a little soft inside, just in the left side of the chest where, had he been human, his heart would have been located. And he needed that feeling. After his run-in with Gabriel, it would be a balm to his scorched demonic soul. Not to mention his frazzled nerves.

"I just ran into…" he began as he turned towards the little island of cosiness in the back where the couch and table was. Where they'd normally hang out and his angel liked to lounge with a book. Then something caught his nose, a horribly familiar burnt scent.

"In the back, dear!" Aziraphale called out, sounding as if all was right as rain.

Sticking his tongue out to make sure, Crowley felt a chill down his spine. "Angel, what is that smell in here?" The sulphur, the decay. While not overly strong, he knew the answer to his question already.

A demonic presence that wasn't _his_. Not even giving it a second thought or possibly just running high from having dealt with Gabriel and lived to tell the tale, Crowley moved, with all the pent up tension of a giant serpent.

Shorter than himself, lower in the hierarchy than Crowley had ever been. Minion status. And Crowley had him slammed up against the nearest bookcase between one heartbeat and the next, spitting and hissing his displeasure at finding a demon in the bookshop. In another lifetime Crowley might have brandished a handful of hellfire, but a) he wouldn't want to endanger his angel and b) the bookshop had seen more than enough fire to last a lifetime.

As had Crowley.

"Crowley!"

Crowley realised that Aziraphale was trying to get him to unclench his hands, currently holding the other demon in place. The little one was oozing fear and lower level demonic clerk energy all over the place.

"What isss he doing here?" Crowley hissed, feeling the unholy urge to yeet the little fucker out the nearest window. He recognised the little bastard as being the one who'd wanted to _hit_ Aziraphale during the execution. Stopping only just in time before he even uttered his accusations, Crowley swallowed his ire. Because if he mentioned it, he'd risk giving their game away.

Somehow, and Crowley had no idea how, Aziraphale managed to get him to let go and instead of clawing out the demonic minion, he was grasping Aziraphale's shoulder and arm instead.

"Crowley, really," Aziraphale said, admonishment soft. "I should hope you would trust my judgement. Eric here has been nothing but mindful of his manners."

Crowley tightened his hold on Aziraphale's shoulder and made a face. All the while ignoring the demon who had retreated to the relative safety of the couch. _His_ couch, even. He sniffed and shrugged, then nodded and felt his resolve crumble like the walls of once-proud Jehericho when Aziraphale covered his hand with his own and squeezed firmly.

And then Aziraphale brought his hand up, pressing his dry lips to their joint grip. 

Crowley’s vocal cords turned to stone, completely incapable of carrying sound, completely incapable of conveying the words he couldn't find. His mind nothing but blank static, gaze frozen on Aziraphale's hand, lips, now lightly parted in surprise. Crowley found himself leaning a little forward, eyes drawn to the curve of the cupid's bow and the hint of a tongue in there.

He felt a burning need to taste. One that had always been there, but carefully shackled where it could not ever get out. And Aziraphale had broken those chains, evaporated them by kissing his _hand_.

Something flickered in Aziraphale's eyes, surprise and a little embarrassment but also determination blazing like the fires of Hell. He squeezed Crowley's hand again and mouthed 'not now'.

And Heaven bless him, but he was thankful that he was standing with his back to their uninvited guest. What wouldn't hell say if one of its minions brought back word of this? He slipped his hand from Aziraphale's with a quick, reassuring squeeze before turning around to at least warn the demon about what he was dealing with. Namely Crowley.

The words died in his mouth when he found a pair of dark, wide eyes staring at himself and Aziraphale. Mouth partly open and nothing but utter surprise painted across the dark features.

"It's true what they say then," the demon all but whispered.

Crowley stepped to the side and turned towards Eric, but caught Aziraphale's look of worry.

"And what do they say?" Aziraphale asked quietly, faux-casually walking over to his chair to sit down in it. His voice was that low timbre that Crowley had had centuries to learn to be very, very wary of.

Eric looked a little embarrassed. "Well, there's been rumours ever since the End didn't happen," he admitted, keeping an eye on Crowley, but mostly focusing on Aziraphale. Not stupid then, Crowley decided. Yes, he was dangerous, but everyone always underestimated Aziraphale - most often to the angel's advantage.

"Go on?" Aziraphale said, leaning back in his seat, so very calm on the surface.

Crowley hid a grin. Not calm underneath, never calm underneath, his angel.

"That- ah," Eric hesitated. "Um, that the two of you have 'gone native' so to speak."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

Eric's attention flit from one to the other and back. "That you are together like humans are, a mated pair."

Crowley expected outright denial or ridicule from Aziraphale, but when nothing came, he had to fight ever so hard to not turn and stare at the angel.

"I see," Aziraphale said quietly. "And if we were, what would it be to Hell anyway?"

"Maybe-" Eric hesitated. "I don't know a lot about Earth's people or animals, but from what I've seen on TV, mated pairs fight to protect each other and Hell is, from what I've heard, looking for a way to explain how you survived stopping the Apocalypse." He opened his mouth, then closed it again with an audible click.

"Out with it," Crowley all but growled at him.

"You know, the legends, about mated pairs of angels, and since angels and demons-"

"Are cut from the same cloth," Aziraphale finished for him, one eyebrow raised. "Those are legends, Eric, Heaven has no mated pairs of angels. If they had, they'd understand what love is, and quite frankly, Heaven seems to have forgotten just that. We are as humans - we have a free will and if we exercise it, we can be with whomever we want to."

Crowley opened his mouth at the same time as Eric did, but neither of them managed to say anything. Crowley fought to not stare at Aziraphale. But oh, _Heaven_ did he want to. He'd never heard Aziraphale speak like this before. Well, he had, just not about Heaven and the other angels. His angel was enough of a bastard most days to satisfy Crowley's needs.

"I hope you found what you needed, Eric," Aziraphale said quietly as he stood up.

Eric scrambled to his feet. "Thank you for the tea, sir. And the information about Earth. And the reading suggestions." At the latter, he beamed widely.

Crowley made a face. No one should be smiling that smitten with _his_ angel.

Who had kissed his hand. With his lips. The lips that he'd been thinking about for millennia, and very much every time he'd gone out to eat with Aziraphale somewhere. The sounds the angel made when savouring his food were one thing, but the amount of licking of lips was just obscene.

Was it too much to hope that he could be allowed _some_ day, to lick them too?

When Aziraphale returned from having shown the demon out, Crowley had managed to work himself up into a bit of a mess [4.1]. Not exactly something very hard for him, because it had taken about ten seconds for him to start second-guessing why exactly Aziraphale had done that and in front of a lower level, inferior demon no less!

"Crowley, de-" Aziraphale trailed off, a worried look on his face. He stepped forward, wringing his hands. "I don't know why- no, wait, that's not right. I do know, but I'm sorry I did it in front of a guest and without warning you."

Crowley waved a hand at him. He really didn't want to talk about this. Really, really, reallyreallyreallyreally… Crowley stared at his hand he'd just been waving, caught between the hands of a very determined-looking principality.

"My dear friend, I did not mean to embarrass you and perhaps it is long overdue-" He stopped as a noise interrupted him.

Crowley realised that the source of the noise had come from his own throat.

Aziraphale's soft expression turned downright scary to Crowley. A determined principality of Aziraphale's calibre was nothing to joke about. Retired or not.

"Ngk!" was all Crowley managed to get out with Aziraphale's coveted lips finally, _finally_ covering his.

He really wished he could have called it a good kiss, a great kiss, a kiss of ages. It had been long enough in the making. However, there was not enough upper brainpower in Crowley's mind to process the feelings. Touch.Aziraphale.Kissing.Lips…

"No, really, my dearest," Aziraphale huffed, trying to keep Crowley on his feet, because the demon felt like all his strings had been cut and he had absolutely no control over his limbs anymore, sagging in Azraphale's lovely, strong grasp.

"'m sorry, angel," Crowley managed when he could make his vocal cords work again. At this point, Aziraphale had deposited him on the couch (which still reeked of another demon) and was sitting in his chair like always, looking like he wasn't sure if he could get any closer.

Without spooking Crowley.

"Sorry," Crowley repeated sheepishly. "I don't know what came over me." And he genuinely didn't. He'd been offered up on a silver platter what he'd been wanting for thousands of years, and yet his mind had completely flatlined and dumped his sorry ass on the street.

"I…" Aziraphale sighed. "I am aware that up until now I have been the one stalling. For good reasons, as you well know. But I can't help but wonder if we may have gotten our wires crossed. I fully believed-" Aziraphale trailed off and swallowed visibly. His eyes, his damned beautiful eyes were downcast, refusing to meet Crowley's.

Not that they could have, the demon realised. Taking a deep breath, Crowley took off the shades and put them on the table next to the couch. "I don't know what came over me," Crowley said, voice like an old, creaky door. He cleared his throat.

"If I am wrong, then I apologise. If this was too forward of me, please forgive me," Aziraphale said. Eyes still not meeting Crowley's, but his voice clear and firm as steel.

Crowley swallowed around the lump that would not let him say what he needed to say. Like he'd swallowed something big and ugly.

Struggling, Crowley finally managed a reply containing words. Or rather, one word. "No!" he insisted, forcing the word out.

Aziraphale's head came up, his eyes wide and face paler than ever.

"Oh fuck," Crowley muttered. At the same time, Aziraphale stood resolutely, looking about two seconds from bolting. And Crowley knew he would have to move fast, because if he didn't, Aziraphale would put up that damned stiff upper lip that Crowley was sure he'd taught the Brits because the angel had mastered it for centuries, if not millennia.

And because Crowley was an uncoordinated idiot sometimes, he rushed forward to stop the angel, gaining a little too much forward momentum, which ended up with him sprawled ungainly in the angel's lap.

"Crowley, oomph," Aziraphale tried to continue, but of course Crowley managed to plant an elbow in his gut, effectively knocking the air out of him for a moment. He hadn't meant to, but he was trying to right himself to get off Aziraphale before he went and did something truly stupid.

The next moment would stay with Crowley for a very long time because quite frankly if he'd ever suspected he might have a bit of a strength kink when it came to Aziraphale, he'd never have managed to be in a room with him without constantly focusing on it, thinking about it _wanting_ it.

As it were, Crowley had pushed the angel around before, more than one memorable moment of backing him up against a wall or looming menacingly over him. But it had always been with the latent knowledge that Aziraphale _let_ him. There'd never been any fear in his reactions, sometimes humour, often sarcasm, and most of the time, a strange kind of attention and focus on Crowley that he'd never been capable of deciphering.

This was the moment where Crowley realised exactly what he'd always known. That Aziraphale could have matched him anytime. Even outdone him. Demonic strength was not a joke, it had served him well in the past, more than once. But Aziraphale was always so cushy to look at, welcoming, soft and inviting. What many, including Crowley, would forget was the fact that the angel was a protector, a soldier and had the God-given strength, quite literally, of a Principality.

And Aziraphale was staring at Crowley's lips, not for a second taking his eyes off them. His perfectly manicured hands grabbed Crowley by his upper arms, held him in place. And then he kissed him, completely derailing him. Lips firm and perhaps a little chapped, but so much better than Crowley had ever thought it could be. And once again, in his clumsiness, his need for speed, Crowley pushed for more, harder, _faster_. Not because he didn't want softness and had thought for centuries what a sweet, slow kiss with Aziraphale might be like. No, because he wanted all of the things he'd ever imagined and all those fantasies tripped each other up like a bad Hollywood comedy.

Crowley had rarely allowed himself to consider what their first sexual encounter would be like because it couldn't ever happen. However, _if_ he had had fantasies, none of them would have involved the mess it turned out to be. First rutting like animals in heat on the chair, and then again on the floor, grappling for the upper hand. He'd never have considered the level of uncoordinated disaster.

* * *

Aziraphale felt it was too undignified to stay in a heap of their own mess on the floor, so he snapped his fingers to get rid of any bodily fluids and stood up. He didn't bother redoing his waistcoat, just his shirt enough for modesty and his trousers for very much the same reason. Dragging Crowley to his feet, he gave up on trying to fix the demon's trousers, because he couldn't even imagine how Crowley got into those tight trousers in the first place.

Instead, he gently, but firmly, pushed Crowley down onto the couch, draped a blanket over him in lieu of modesty and sunk into the other corner of it.

Crowley leaned his head back, eyes closed and Aziraphale squashed the urge to demand he look at him. Mostly because he could tell it wasn't that Crowley didn't want to, but every part of him seemed tired, weary. Like a deflated balloon.

"That was unexpected," Aziraphale said, trying to figure out any other way of opening communications. And it was the truth. He might have set it in motion by being overly affectionate, but never in a thousand years had he considered this level of debauchery. [4.2]

"Is that all you have to say?" Crowley asked, throwing his arm over his face, like the bloody drama queen he was.

"Well, that and you give off some rather mixed messages, my dear," Aziraphale said evenly. He felt like he was on, what the humans referred to as a rollercoaster. He fully expected Crowley to argue as he always did when Aziraphale accused him of anything.

Yet, this time he didn't. Instead, he let his arm slide down to rest on the couch between them, tilted his head back down and opened his eyes, turning enough to meet Aziraphale's gaze.

"You surprised me," Crowley said, voice barely audible. "It… surprised me."

"It?" Aziraphale asked for clarification.

"Yeah, you know, the intimacy of it."

"Intimacy?" Aziraphale echoed, eyes wide. "You instigated the sex, my dear," he said slowly.

"That's just sex, angel, not intimacy - I was talking about the _kiss_. Wasn't expecting it. Wasn't expecting you to kiss me." There was colour high in Crowley's cheeks now, and a certain reddish-pink hue to the top of the shell of his ears.

Aziraphale struggled with it for a moment. No, he really needed some kind of clarification. "You consider kissing more intimate than sex?" 

"Yeah, of course," Crowley said, finally turning his head and giving Aziraphale a look of disbelief. "Don't you?"

Aziraphale opened his mouth to argue that he most certainly didn't, then shut his mouth again. "Let me see if I get this right. To you, sex means nothing, and thus can be done, no strings attached, but a simple kiss is too intimate to you."

"I don't know why! It's just how I feel." Crowley shrugged. "And not just any kind of kissing angel, you have to put your emotions into it, that makes it intimate." He looked away for a moment, cheeks burning bright with embarrassment now. "And I didn't say I didn't want kisses, just… don't spring them on me like that, alright, angel?"

Aziraphale cocked his head to the side, studying Crowley's face, his posture, the tension in his shoulders. "So you're saying I can kiss you-?" Oh God, he hoped the answer to that was 'yes'.

"I'm just saying if you surprise me with a kiss I can't promise you won't get a repeat of," Crowley gestured at nothing and everything.

"A repeat of the sex?" Because as much as Aziraphale would lament not having kissing of any and all kinds, he would sacrifice the intimacy that he felt was in the act of sex for kissing Crowley whenever he felt like it. If Crowley didn't mind, that was.

Crowley sighed so heavily that Aziraphale wondered how, after knowing each other for six thousand years, they failed so utterly at communicating.

"Crowley, please, I don't want to do anything you don't agree to, but I have to know where I stand and how much you'll allow me." Aziraphale huffed in defeat. "I want to kiss you, my dear, on the cheek, on the hand, on the lips. I want dearly for them all to be signs of affection."

"And I need to know that it's okay if some of it ends in, you know, sex," Crowley said so quietly that had Aziraphale been human, he wouldn't have been able to hear it.

"Of course it's alright," Aziraphale said, frowning. "Have I given you any reason to think that what we just did was in any way against my will?" Aziraphale was split between annoyance and confusion.

"You miracled the mess away fast enough," Crowley muttered.

"I felt we needed to be comfortable for our talk," Aziraphel replied, wondering how to address this. It was in no way logical to him. "Just because I cleaned us up, doesn't mean I didn't enjoy what we did. It took me by surprise, yes, but it wasn't unwelcome."

"Wasn't sure if I was moving too fast for you," Crowley said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small grin.

"Well," Aziraphale said, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. "I wouldn't say no to a little more leisurely exploration next time, not to mention somewhere more comfortable than my old chair or the floor."

"I think I can agree on that," Crowley said sheepishly. "Sorry about that."

Aziraphale judged the moment and hoped he wasn't wrong. He slowly leaned forward, reaching out to take Crowley's hand, feeling the slight tremor in it as he folded both of his around it. "Please don't be. We obviously need to set some boundaries for this to work."

Crowley made a face. "Maybe, yes. I'm just not sure what you want from this, angel."

Aziraphale sighed in relief. "And I have to admit that I wonder the same about you, Crowley."

"Are you kidding me?" Crowley turned to fully look at him, eyes wide in surprise. "You— just look at— I mean."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, trying not to smile but not at all bothering with trying to fight against the feeling of finding this so absolutely adorable. Because it was. So very much. His heart sang and all he wanted was to hold Crowley and tell him how perfect he was and how very _soft_ he felt at the centre of his soul whenever he thought of him.

"Crowley, I may not move as fast as you do, but intimacy, physical or emotional, is more than welcome from you, in truth, I take great delight in it." Aziraphale looked down at the foot protruding from under the blanket. Did he dare?

He dared. And put his hand on the bit of ankle showing above the shoe and below the trouser leg. He almost lifted it again as he felt Crowley going completely still under it.

"I'm, angel, erm, intimacy, yes," Crowley mumbled, averting his eyes, refusing to meet Aziraphale's gaze.

If Crowley had trouble with the emotional side of things, Aziraphale would have to be careful about how he proceeded. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he was more than fine with the physical intimacy, but he feared that if that was all it was going to be, then they wouldn't last for very long. _He_ wouldn't last for very long. As an angel, a being of love, he couldn't subsist on sex alone [4.3].

He could only hope that Crowley would eventually come around to his side of things. What would an intimate relationship between them be like without their love? And Aziraphale was sure, right to the core of his Grace, that Crowley loved him too. But it meant Aziraphale had to be careful to not move too fast.

What a novel idea. He, the one who had always been putting the brakes on, had to be considerate of his demon's reluctance to speak of love. Well, Aziraphale had the patience of a saint, in truth, he'd inspired many a saint to this aspect. He could move slowly - they'd have to have two tracks, he reasoned silently. One where he let Crowley have all the physical intimacy he wanted - which was fine with Aziraphale - for now at least. And one track where Aziraphale would have to be very sensitive to any signs in regards to emotional stability.

"What are you brewing in there, angel?" Crowley asked suspiciously.

"A way forward for us in this," Aziraphale said slowly. Physical intimacy was apparently alright to Crowley, as long as Aziraphale didn't startle him too badly. Emotionally, he'd have to play it by ear.

Which of course meant that this was very not the time to tell Crowley about his wardrobe and the cottage.

Crowley watched him silently for a few moments, then groaned. "Angel, I completely forgot to tell you." He rubbed his eyes. "I ran into Gabriel."

All his planning fell to the bottom of a very deep pit. Aziraphale reacted before he could even think and was inside Crowley's personal space in the blink of an eye. "Are you alright, my dear?"

And again he was perhaps moving a little too fast because the look of sheer surprise on Crowley's face hit him like a cricket bat to stomach. Yet he couldn't _not_ check him over. Gabriel had accosted his friend. And rather than mentioning it, Crowley-

"I kinda got sidetracked," Crowley muttered, heat flushing his cheeks again. His hands came up to rest against Aziraphale's chest, fingers clenching lightly at his shirt.

"Now tell me about Gabriel," Aziraphale insisted. He was partly to blame for the distraction anyway. It wasn't like he could hold it against him. As much as he wanted to cuddle up to Crowley, if he wanted any kind of coherent retelling from him, Aziraphale would have to back up a little.

Never had a choice rankled the angel so much.

* * *

4.1This was a skill that Crowley exelled at . Had for ages. Come to think about it, pretty much since he'd initiated a conversation with an angel on a wall. Return to text

4.2 This wasn't quite true. Aziraphale had a wonderful imagination and was very well-read. More correct would probably be to say that he'd never thought their first time would be quite such a mess. Return to text

4.3 And Aziraphale was the core concept of a principality. He loved with the same strength and passion with which he would protect what was dearest to him; nearest to his heart. Return to text


	6. Interlude I (God)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which God ponders an angel and a demon.

Initially, God had kept an eye on Her Principality. She had known how the whole thing would play out, with the flaming sword and the apple. She had been pleasantly surprised to see Her principality not smiting his demonic counterpart and the demon letting his curiosity get the better of him in regards to the angel.

It was, after all, how She had created him. Crawly, as he'd become after his fall, had been the inquisitive child in the class, always asking why-why-why-why. The kind who was the reason why some adults would go crazy. A bottomless pit of seeking knowledge.

She had set down the outline of their history. The start of it. How they would deal with each other, would be entirely up to them. They could have become the greatest of Adversaries™ or the closest of co-workers. The outcome, the foiling of Armageddon would have happened one way or another.

To Her surprise, they had become something else. There had been one small anomaly, a mutation if one wanted to call it that, in Her demon. Not only had he retained the ability to imagine things, something only one of Her creating angels had had, no, he had apparently developed the ability to feel love for something. It had sprung from a minor ability to having preferences, which lead to caring for something for sentimental reasons. Much like She had eventually seen him grow attached to his vehicle.

However, the catalyst had been one small comment from Her angel, a reply to an inquiry.

"I gave it away," the angel had said, fretting, wringing his hands, believing he had done anything but follow Her blueprints.

And behold, She had looked down upon the two figures on the wall and seen a spark that should have technically not existed. The bloom of interest, of likemindedness of recognition of oneself in another person.

And the birth of morosexuality, possibly. She would be seeing this from both of them over the millennia, to the point where She could no longer call it an aberration, but rather a well-worn habit.


	7. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is soft, ineffable domesticity, more than a little demonic self-doubt and we're heading directly towards the E-rating in the next chapter.

Aziraphale had to draw on all his patience during the time to come. Crowley could be tricky to deal with on a good day. And it hadn't escaped Aziraphale's attention that more than a few potted plants had migrated to his bookshop. He hadn't said anything when they had started appearing in the flat above the shop and by the time he found the beauties in his bookshop, he couldn't figure out how to open that conversation. Every time he thought about it, he got derailed by the knowledge that, little by little, Crowley was filling his space with definite Crowley-things.

And if he couldn't figure out how to open such conversations with Crowley, how was he supposed to tackle the whole intimacy thing? Whenever he instigated something, there was a good chance of it falling to pieces even before they got started. Crowley would be amenable enough as long as it would lead to something of a sexual nature, and while Aziraphale didn't mind the physicality, he was just as interested in curling up on the couch and exchanging kisses.

This posed a problem because whenever he tried to kiss Crowley in a non-sexual way, the demon would react either by being startled, then cranky, or look at him like a rabbit would look at the headlights of an oncoming Bentley on fire.

In truth, Aziraphale felt like it resembled trying to hold water in his hands. Or maybe a snake. Because that had been truly surprising and more than a little embarrassing, hadn't it?

Crowley had always seemed so very cool and aloof to Aziraphale, but at any point, should Aziraphale try to kiss or cuddle with him without clearly signalling that they were going to have sex, Crowley would just stop functioning.

Such was one night, snow painting Soho white and clean for a little while, and Aziraphale, without considering his usual careful demeanour around the demon, had shifted on the couch, where they now sat more often together, even if not touching. And he'd sought the warmth of the body next to his.

A soft noise alerted Aziraphale that something was off, and suddenly, the lovely warm presence he'd been pressed up against (cuddling, angel, call it what it was, cuddling), disappeared.

Crowley had been under at least three blankets as he so often was during winter, and suddenly that was all there was, a pile of blankets.

Aziraphale's heart leapt to his throat, for a moment, as he feared that Crowley had been whisked away from their home. Then something moved under the blankets, and when Aziraphale performed a closer investigation, he realized that Crowley was still there.

Under the blankets, as he pulled them away, he found the coils of a great big serpent with a rather sheepish look on its face. [5.1]

"Really, dear?" Aziraphale said, trying to keep the incredulity out of his voice, knowing as the sheepish look turned mildly sour and a split tongue came out to taste the air, that he hadn't managed that.

"Still too fast?"

The tongue came out again and the Serpent shoved its head inside the coils of its body. There had been a distinctive flush to its head, Aziraphale was quite sure.

That did it, Aziraphale vowed to himself that he would have to take the serpent into a firmer grip from now on [5.2] This was getting ridiculous. He covered the snake with the blankets again and got to plotting.

He, of course, still had his bookshop to take care of, but he had to admit that since Eric had begun visiting, he'd proven to be a more than adequate assistant, allowing Aziaraphale to pursue his usual hobbies: reading, researching and spending time with Crowley.

At least they hadn't seen Gabriel since he'd accosted Crowley in the street. Which still made Aziraphale's blood run cold and hot. He feared for Crowley's safety, but he would defend him, always, even against an archangel.

Of course, with any change came other obstacles. Aziraphale had reluctantly let Eric help at the shop and with that had come a completely unforeseen detail.

Because Eric had ended up not being the last demon to knock on his door. Others had followed, all curious to know about humans and human spaces. Crowley couldn't talk about it with Aziraphale in a nice and level way, now would he?

"Angel, you opened your door to one of the minions, you can't complain if others follow."

Aziraphale made a face. "I just don't want the kind of attention that might attract," Aziraphale said quietly. "But they all say they need help in experiencing humanity and understanding why we would set mankind above a war." He felt it was worth a risk, but he'd like for Crowley to actually agree on this.

In most cases, Eric dealt with them, but occasionally Aziraphale had to sit down and answer some pretty obscene and obscure questions. He mostly worried what turning these demons loose on Earth would mean for the humans. Of course, he'd rather they sought his counsel before doing so than blundering in and causing too much trouble.

"You're not helping, dear," Aziraphale said, tugging Crowley closer, hoping he'd allow it. And because Crowley was busy annoying someone on an online message board, he didn't fall to pieces this time.

Thank God for small mercies and Aziraphale sent an apologetic thought to whatever poor sod was getting the brunt of Crowley's attention. For now, it meant Aziraphale could cuddle with him on the couch.

* * *

"I suck," Crowley said, not really to anyone, but since Eric was busy shelving books for Aziraphale, he might as well serve as an agony aunt, a willing ear or not.

Igor, Eric's assistant or what the Heavens he was supposed to be, was normally easier to talk to. Aziraphale always gave him this odd look when he said so. Aziraphale, of course, couldn't tell the difference between Igor and Eric - to him they looked exactly the same. [5.3]

Eric froze in his tracks. "I didn't think snakes could suck, just swallow-" He caught Crowley's glare, then shrugged, clearing his throat. "I'm sure that's not the case?" he replied carefully.

Crowley bared his teeth at him, watching the demon take a step back. "Oh, it's very much the case," he said, then frowned. "Why are you shelving books for Aziraphale?" he asked suspiciously. Because normally no one was allowed anywhere near the angel's precious babies.

Least of all customers. And even Crowley got the occasional stink eye when he picked one up to fiddle with. Wasn't his fault that he was always mildly jittery around the angel.

But apparently Aziraphale's new 'friend' was allowed.

"Ah, Mr Fell," Eric said, eyeing Crowley nervously, his hair possibly standing more on end than normally. "Mr Fell had business with another antique bookseller in Greenwich and wanted to reshelve some of the Byron and Austen shelves. Said he's had some mice sniffing about?"

Crowley snorted. Mice? That couldn't be it. Mice wouldn't dare. As if the angel didn't keep them away with a well-placed miracle anyway. Frivolous or not. Seeing as animals could sense such things, the rodents knew there was an apex predator in the neighbourhood - they wouldn't dare!

Just for good measure, Crowley let the tip of his tongue slit and tasted the air. No, nope, definitely no rodents in the house. He remembered what he'd been saying earlier. Then wondered how much Aziraphale shared with his new friend.

Narrowing his focus, he glared at the other demon. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. If it got out that he wasn't in as much control as he wanted to seem, then where would that leave them. If he admitted being on uneven ground, that his and Airaphale's relationship was pretty damned weird by human standards, and probably even weirder by both angelic and demonic ones.

For one, how the hell was he supposed to deal with the all-encompassing love that he felt flow from Aziraphale? The angel, at least, was used to feeling love in other people, but Crowley had only ever been good at detecting the urge to sin - which had helped him a lot in tempting subjects. He'd never been able to look at this feeling and say 'yes, this is love - it feels loved.'

How lovely.

"Sir?" Eric looked at him with some trepidation.

Good. Crowley grinned. "Nevermind. Tell the angel when he gets back that I'll pick him up at seven."

Eric looked to the side where a journal was open on the table. "Ah, yes, dinner - will it be at the Ritz again, sir?"

"Are you calling me predictable?" Crowley sneered. He was getting increasingly paranoid that he'd lost his ability to confuse and surprise anyone. That he'd become 'domesticated'.

"Not at all, sir!" Eric all but stood at attention.

"And since when does the angel have a journal? He's always up for a trip to the Ritz." Crowley pursed his lips. "Do you think I should choose somewhere else?"

"Not at all, sir," Eric said, looking a little ill at ease. "Mr Fell seems to enjoy you taking initiative." 

"Does he now?" Crowley muttered to himself as he headed for the door. 

Eric wisely didn't reply to this one.

Crowley got into his Bentley and stroked the dashboard for a moment wondering what he was supposed to make of that information. So Aziraphale liked him taking initiative. Yes, it had almost always been Crowley, hadn't it? Except for Rome. Rome had been the first time and Aziraphale had been the one to issue an invitation.

Hadn't been the first, really, right? Crowley pulled out into traffic, miraculously not hitting anything or anyone. [5.4]

That first day where Crowley had given into his always insatiable curiosity to slither up the wall for what would probably be a stinging smiting. On that fateful day, Aziraphale had invited him to converse by not turning him away, speaking to him and in the end, sheltering him from the rain under his wing.

And now he was inviting him into something else, wasn't he? Where Crowley might boast and say that he was perfectly fine with just a physical relationship along with their friendship, it wasn't really true. What he really wanted, he knew, was what Aziraphale was offering.

The problem was accepting it.

It had been easy and exhilarating to step under the wing that day and it had been equally so that day in Rome when he'd accepted an invitation to lunch. The first of many. And it should be just as easy to step into Aziraphale's open arms. Which, yes, it sort of was, but every time the angel drew him in for a cuddle, a hug, a kiss, Crowley would end up wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Because all his limbs seemed to have different ideas, his brain stopped working and his inner snake did the bloody ostrich thing and stuck its head in the ground to hide from reality.

He was lucky Aziraphale was as patient as he was. That he felt he owed that to Crowley after the centuries of keeping Crowley at an arm's length when he got too close.

So, Crowley decided, right there and then, that he'd do it right tonight. Pick up flowers, maybe a bit of chocolate, the kind that Aziraphale really liked and dress up for their dinner out. And he'd hold Aziraphale's hand, maybe even kiss it.

Plan thought out, Crowley ran his Bentley through the city towards Mayfair. Time to yell at some plants and release some of his nervous energy. Not that he was nervous of course, but he had to stay on top of those plants for they might get ideas above their station.

* * *

Of course, some of Crowley's plans ran counter to the ones Aziraphale had been hatching. Because these two could do many things, but synchronising their attempts at love was not a skill they had tried to hone. Ever.

Aziraphale quite approved of Crowley's updated attire for the evening, though. Very dapper, very tempting. Almost mouthwateringly so. No mistaking, this was still Crowley and he was still dressed completely in black on black. But rather than the usual black jeans or leather trousers, he was wearing a proper suit, pinstriped even. With the stripes, just a fraction towards grey compared to the base colour. Coupled with what looked suspiciously like a red silk shirt underneath, topped with a black tie.

Even his usual snakeskin boots had been exchanged for the evening with a pair of shiny black shoes, a bit of a heel and of course the signature red soles.

"You look absolutely marvellous," Aziraphale told him, heavy truth behind every word. He did, and at that very moment, Aziraphale caught himself wondering if perhaps he should suggest they forewent the evening dining plans and headed straight back to his flat where he had everything planned out and ready.

Aziraphale mentally hit himself up the head. No, the plan was there to be followed. If he started to go by whatever came to mind, he would just have a repeat of the other times he'd tried to be intimate with Crowley. It always ended in sex, well, almost always, but he really, truly wanted the journey towards it to be a little longer. [5.5]

"Thank you, angel, not too shabby yourself," Crowley replied, obviously aiming for suave, but sounding soft and happy.

The dinner was amazing. And they were barely through the first course (hay smoked veal sweetbread) and the main course was on the horizon (Kentish lamb) when Aziraphale realised that something was different. There was a nervousness to Crowley that was new. Or rather, racked up a notch or two compared to normally.

It took Aziraphale an embarrassingly long time (until dessert had been ordered: Grand Marnier Soufflé) to notice that Crowley's gaze kept drifting down to his hand. The hand that Aziraphale was resting on the table as he always did.

In the beginning, Aziraphale had never given it much thought, but somewhere along the way, he'd guiltily admitted to himself that he'd always hoped that Crowley would put his hand either right up against it or even better, on top of it.

For a moment he thought about addressing it, but instead, he realised that that would probably only cause Crowley to not make a move at all.

Tapping his index and middle finger against the tabletop, he looked up at Crowley, met his eyes through the dark shades. There wasn't much to see, but there was enough of a hint to let him know that he had Crowley's undivided attention. Slowly turning his hand over, he splayed it open, still on the table.

There was a flicker of movement behind the dark-tinted glass and Aziraphale knew that Crowley had caught the moment. Now it was a matter of him understanding it. It was simple, Aziraphale thought to himself. Please understand it, please see it as the invitation it is.

He almost shouted in joy when he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, Crowley moving his hand closer to Aziraphale's. 

Their waiter chose that moment to bring in the desert, and Aziraphale refused to look away from Crowley's eyes. At least the waiter was professional and put the desserts down along with their coffees before leaving them to their own. Without breaking the silence.

And it was a silence that could be cut with a knife, Aziraphale realised. A tension there that sent shivers down his spine. In all the best ways.

Taking his spoon, Aziraphale dug the tip of it into the soufflé, lifted the spoon and put his lips around it. He could see how hard Crowley was swallowing at that moment, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

Crowley's hand, the one opposite Aziraphale, found the handle of the cup of coffee unerringly. And as he took a sip of his coffee, never taking his eyes off Aziraphale's, Crowley snuck his hand into the angel's. And Aziraphale felt like his chest was about to explode with feelings. Elation, trust, pride. So much pride in his demon. And love. The one thing he could always sense in others, but had failed to feel from Crowley. So deeply buried and yet so achingly familiar.

Humming contentedly to himself, Aziraphale tried not to smile too widely as he spooned up another bit of soufflé.

"Smug is not a good look on you, angel," Crowley muttered, his cheeks beginning to have roughly the same colour as his shirt.

"Really?" Aziraphale said, wiggling a little in his seat, lightly tightening his hold on Crowley's hand.

Crowley's grip on the coffee cup wobbled a little and Aziraphale could feel the tickle of a small demonic miracle to keep the dark liquid from spilling.

Rubbing his thumb over Crowley's boney hand, Aziraphale met his gaze again, steadily. He watched as Crowley stopped, the coffee cup barely touching his lips. Eyes a little wide as their focus dipped down to their clasped hands and then quickly back up to meet Aziraphale's.

"Angel, I-" Crowley trailed off, staring at their linked hands, obviously mesmerized by the touch to his hand.

Aziraphale quickly re-arranged some of the things he'd planned for later. Plans weren't so tight that he couldn't change them at the drop of a hat if needed. "Crowley, dear?"

"Mrgh," Crowley replied, still holding the cup at his lips, but not drinking.

"I hope you'll come up for a nightcap when we get back to the bookshop." Well, the nightcap was perhaps just a small part of it.

"Yeah, sure, angel, of course."

"And darling?"

"Huh?"

"Drink your coffee, it's going cold," Aziraphale said kindly, feeling his chest swell with all the greatest hits. The love, the love that he held for this complex creature. It was saturating his Grace and rather than tainting it, as Heaven would have told him it'd do, it spun itself with silver threads through the vastness of it. Strengthening it.

* * *

5.1This is not normal for snakes, to have facial expressions, but by now any reader should know that Crowley is not a. a normal serpent or b. for that matter a normal demon. Return to text

5.2 Pun very much intended. Return to text

5.3This wasn't strictly speaking true. Igor was an outlier. He was another aspect of Eric, who always came in threes. Eric had always been like that, destroy one, a short while later another would rise. And they were all Eric. Except then Igor had come along, who had apparently read up on the whole free will thing (books supplied courtesy of one angel). And thus, like Eve eating the apple in the Garden of Eden by Crowley's suggestion, Igor had read a book on Aziraphale's suggestion. And because he quite liked the idea of having a free will, one of Eric's three aspects had become Igor. Return to text

5.4Actually, Crowley had a special skill when it came to time and time management. Quite literally. Some demons had powers connected to something special. Like elements. Hastur was very fond of fire, which tended to listen to his whims. Crowley had a certain sway over time itself. It went a long way in explaining why he never hit anyone in traffic.

At least until he'd hit the witch. And Aziraphale would never let him live that down, which wasn't fair, because his attention had been entirely on Aziraphale that night. Return to text

5.5Foreplay. Aziraphale wanted longer foreplay, which was hard to get when your partner either snaked-out or sex prematurely happened.

Couldn't blame an angel for wanting a bit of kissing and cuddling, right? Return to text


	8. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Crowley tries ever so hard to slow down and Aziraphale attempt to speed up a little. This is one of those chapters where the story very much earns its E rating._

The drive back to the bookshop was a bit of a haze to Crowley. And again, he could thank the Bentley for getting them there in one piece. The roads between Mayfair, Soho and the Ritz and Savoy were so ingrained in her that if her master should be otherwise occupied, she would make sure that they got to their destination.

In this case, it was a very good thing, because all Crowley could think about was Aziraphale holding his hand, not just in public, but he was still holding it as they sped through the streets of London, heading for the bookshop.

The angel had said nightcap, but there was something fishy about his voice and his demeanour, in general, this night. Yet, Crowley couldn't figure out exactly what, and besides, he trusted Aziraphale. Even if the angel had had a glint in his eyes. Which was fine with Crowley! He wasn't so dense, he didn't understand that if he wanted to give Aziraphale the world, he'd have to learn how to allow for the little things. Like holding hands in public, like soft kisses to his cheek. Both of which Aziraphale had bestowed upon him during their dinner. He suspected that the angel had chosen from the menu by the criteria of what he could eat with one hand while the other was softly cradling Crowley's.

A drop of cold sweat ran down between his shoulder blades. Yes, he trusted Aziraphale with his life, but if the angel had something up his sleeve, it would be in relation to the failure that was Crowley's ability to allow him the intimacy of just being together, where not every touch had to be sexual.

Crowley drew a deep breath. The sex really was fantastic, more than he'd ever dared hope in the deepest, darkest recess of his imagination. And he was fairly sure that Aziraphale was enjoying it as well. But he wasn't blind.

It kinda hurt to know that Aziraphale needed more. The hurt didn't lie in that Aziraphale wanted this, but in that Crowley knew the moment he tried to give it, his mind was suddenly like an old TV with the static screen. The one used in Poltergeist that still gave Crowley the heeby-jeebys - and he was a big fan of spooky after all.

So, tonight he was going to be on his best behaviour. He was going to police every movement his body made. And so far it was alright. The handholding wasn't just nice, it made little bubbles burst in his stomach - like champagne bubbles. And while he was a bit spaced out from it, he wasn't running for the hills, now was he?

As if Aziraphale was party to his thoughts, he squeezed Crowley's hand and the static quieted for a moment. All focus was on the warm, dry hand holding his. Resting on top of Aziraphale's thigh, so strong and firm underneath.

Crowley thought about what Aziraphale wanted. The cuddling, the physical nearness that wasn't necessarily sex. That came before sex, after sex, sans sex.

And Crowley almost understood. He'd always buried his feelings deeply because he could write lust off as being a demonic feeling. If he fantasized about having sex with the angel, Hell wouldn't have raised an eyebrow. They'd probably have promoted him, truth be told. Dirty thoughts about an angel of the Lord? Yes, he'd have been marked for having some twisted taste in sex partner (for a demon), but they'd approve for the sheer demoness of it.

If they had caught wind of his feelings for Aziraphale, however, the undiluted love he felt for the angel, then Crowley would have been submitted to Hell's torture chambers a long time ago.

So he'd made sure it had never shown, keeping his subconscious non-sexual desires deeply buried, and he was now paying the price for that.

The Bentley rolled to a gentle stop outside the bookshop and Crowley tightened his grip on Aziraphale's hand as the angel tried to let go.

As if he understood, which he probably did, and shouldn't that make Crowley feel naked and compromised, Aziraphale lifted their joint hands and pressed a long, lingering kiss to the top of Crowley's, as he had done in the bookshop the first time they had opened this can of worms.

Crowley blinked for a moment, then nodded and let go of Aziraphale's hand. He had to, in order to get out of the car. And he was a fully functioning demon, he shouldn't be tearing out of the car to get to Aziraphale's side to hold the door open for him, eager to hold the angel's hand again. And he wasn't, seriously. He just had long legs and could cross any distance quicker than most.

The look on Aziraphale's face told him in no small words that he wasn't exactly being inconspicuous. However, he didn't say anything, just held out his hand, letting Crowley take it if he so wished.

Smug. He'd called the angel smug. And he wanted to again, but there was something else there, underneath the soft surface. A worry line between his eyebrows, barely the width of a hair, but it was there. Like he was worried Crowley might not want to.

Playing it as cool as he could, Crowley took the proffered hand. [6.1]

It was as if a large part of his tension bled out through the touch. Nothing else mattered as he let Aziraphale lead him through the familiar locale of the bookshop to the stairs leading to the flat upstairs.

Halfway up the stairs, Crowley stopped. He wasn't sure why, but thankfully Aziraphale seemed perfectly attuned with him and stopped at the barest tug of their hands.

"Crowley?" There was so much packed into that question. Are you alright? Do you want to call this off? Whatever 'this' was.

"Angel? You won't hold it against me, will you?" Crowley managed to ask, his voice coming out a lot more steady than he'd dared hope for.

"Hold what against you, dear?"

Aziraphale had turned halfway around on the narrow staircase. There wasn't a whole lot of light coming from upstairs, Aziraphale's body blocking most of it. Likewise from down below, where a little light seeped through behind Crowley. Crowley knew how he must look; a dark silhouette, a mirror of his soul - like Aziraphale was towering over him, backlit in a way that almost seemed to give him a halo. Outlining him in a radiant, divine light. 

"If I fail again?"

"When have you failed?" There was so much honesty in that question, it nearly knocked Crowley down the stairs. Instead of staggering, he squeezed Aziraphale's hand, anchoring himself.

"If I can't get over this, this _obstacle_ whatever it is," Crowley said quietly.

"Crowley, we have all the time in the world, there's no deadline. We'll get there together." There was a soft intake of breath and Aziraphale stepped back down a step, so close to Crowley that they were breathing the same air. Like this, Aziraphale was even a little taller than him.

Crowley was fixated by the looming shadow of his oldest friend and newest lover. Last lover. The last one he'd ever share a bed with. It wasn't even hard to admit to himself. Any fleeting previous encounter he'd had -- they paled compared to this.

Aziraphale lifted his other hand and covered their entwined hands with it. He held it tightly against his chest and Crowley could feel the sheer power of his grace and the heavy beat of his heart.

"May I kiss you?" Aziraphale asked. So softly, and so considerate that Crowley wanted to both cry and kick himself. Why was he like this? Why couldn't he just be what Aziraphale needed?

Well, he could try. He figured he could at least do that.

"Please," Crowley all but whispered, tipping his head up a little in invitation.

Crowley's free hand came up to grip Aziraphale's, for balance, for anchor, who knew, he most certainly didn't.

And the kiss was like something new. The urge to deepen it, devour and lead (to sex, always to sex) was there, it tugged at its chains, roared in anger and want. With an inhuman, nearly in-demon amount of self-control, Crowley shut it out, pushed it back, and allowed Aziraphale to set the pace.

Because he wasn't listening to the beast, Crowley could hear it all. The heartbeat, the soft exhalation of air through Aziraphale's nose. The same from his own. And why? They didn't need to breathe, yet their vessels seemed to deem it necessary specifically in this situation to do so.

A little chapped, the angel's lips, but Crowley kept himself from licking them. He was letting Aziraphale lead. Even if it was going to kill him. So soft, so warm and living, and _welcoming._

Crowley took a deep breath through his nose. This was different too. The scent. So far when they'd had sex, there was always the musky scent of their release (at least until they cleaned it and all remnants of the smell away) and sweat and want - something that always tickled his tongue, which was far more skilled in picking up scents than his human nose.

However, right now he was making do with just that. And it was amazing. He could smell the ever-present scent of Aziraphale, the cologne he'd favoured for quite a while now, at least since before Armageddon. And Crowley always committed Aziraphale's scent to memory when it changed. It was one way of finding him when the need arose.

A need was very much rising at that very moment. And still, he knew he shouldn't try to push for it. For now, Crowley quite enjoyed just touching like this, hands clasped between them.

Aziraphale moved one of his and gripped both of Crowley's in just one. Reaching up, he touched Crowley's cheek, ear, ran his fingers through Crowley's hair. A moan may or may not have escaped Crowley. [6.2]

It wasn't too far from the truth to say that Crowley felt a little mesmerized. There was something about the gentleness and ease with which Aziraphale was handling him that should rankle, but Crowley was hard-pressed to find enough brain cells at that very moment to care about any of it.

And as long as the remaining brain cells would just keep quiet, he was going to just go with the flow. Even if the angel had something up his sleeve.

* * *

Oh, but Crowley was so very responsive at this point and Aziraphale was torn between moving on and just staying on the stairs where they were for the next decade or two, lips pressed together, the softest of kisses exchanged. He was well-aware of the way that Crowley was leaning into him, more and more with each passing moment. He could only hope that Crowley wouldn't lose his self-control again. And as long as they walked the tightrope between emotional and physical intimacy, Aziraphale hoped it would be enough.

Putting a hand on Crowley's shoulder, Aziraphale steadied him as he broke their kiss, meeting Crowley's dazed eyes. They were the same lovely yellow-orange that they had been the first time they'd met before Crowley had begun shaping his eyes like humans - or at least as close as he could get them. And Aziraphale felt almost proud because it took a lot to get Crowley to the point of letting go of just that little detail.

Feeling a little lightheaded, Aziraphale tried to find the right moment to move them upwards, up to the flat above the bookshop, to the bedroom that he rarely used for anything but a second storage space for his books.

Since he'd started consciously working towards Crowley's and his relationship he'd moved a lot of the books out of the bedroom and had even redecorated a little. A little bit bigger, a little bit comfier and a lot more inviting and suitable for two people.

Crowley let out a small, annoyed sound, eyes glued to Aziraphale's, not even bothering to blink. Still, he got the idea when Aziraphale backed up another step on the stairs. The annoyance turned to something else, the air charged with expectation.

Aziraphale kept moving up until he reached the narrow hallway, at its end the bedroom where he paused to kiss Crowley again. The demon stretched his fingers, hands still resting against Aziraphale's chest, then gripped lightly onto the lapels of Aziraphale's shirt. He loosened his grip only to tighten it again. It was a subconscious thing he kept doing all the way to the bedroom.

The door swung open behind Aziraphale without making a sound. He was glad that he'd moved all the piles of books out of the room, especially the ones that would have surely tripped him up on his way towards the bed.

It was almost humbling the way Crowley was following him, following his lead. Like he couldn't look away, even if he wanted to. Which, Aziraphale knew, he didn't. They could look now, they didn't have to be careful about being caught looking at the wrong time, in the wrong way, at the wrong person.

And Aziraphale was looking. Was taking in the flush of Crowley's cheeks, his rasped breathing, his dilated eyes, and the attempt at an almost predatory movement forward. Or it would have been predatory, if Crowley had been the big old snake and not in his human vessel, where this kind of movement just made him look like his joints were connected with rubber.

It should have looked ridiculous, but Aziraphale felt his mouth go dry. Even if Aziraphale didn't really possess the lizard hindbrain that humans did, the movement set off primal responses of a different kind. He'd always paid attention to how Crowley moved and finally he could allow himself to feel the full brunt of it. A chill down the spine, a delicious fluttery feeling right in the gut.

Aziraphale let go of Crowley's wrists and put his hands gently on top of Crowley's, still clutching his shirt. It wasn't even in a way like he was afraid that Aziraphale would try to get away (as if that was likely to happen) but more like the touch was grounding him in some way. And oh, did Aziraphale understand that need. It was grounding to him as well, and made his heart soar in a way he could only liken to the feel of wind filling his wings, lifting him clear off the ground and hurtling him into the skies.

Moving backwards across the bedroom felt like an eternity, yet the edge of the mattress hit the back of his knees earlier than he'd expected, and perhaps, earlier than he'd been ready for. It could have broken the moment, but because he wasn't at any point looking away from Crowley it was like a small tug-boat bumping gently against the moorings of the harbour.

Crowley opened his mouth, but no sound came out and Aziraphale found himself caught helplessly between wanting to fill the silence with his usual chatter and hoping they'd both stay quiet. The silence won out, thankfully.

Aziraphale tugged at Crowley's shirt, urging him to take it off. Knowing that there was naked skin just outside his reach was frustrating. He managed to get it pushed down over Crowley's shoulders, feeling the heat from the naked skin against his fingers, causing his heart to beat double time and the palms of his hands to sing. For a moment Crowley's hands were caught in the sleeves, and Aziraphale realised just how often he forgot that Crowley didn't really wear clothes so much as created them out of thin air when, as he dropped it onto the floor, it faded into nothingness.

Taking a chance, Aziraphale leaned in to steal a quick kiss. The heat radiating off the naked skin of Crowley's upper body felt like a furnace, begging Aziraphale closer, to curl up against it and rest like a cat against any warm surface. The thought of rubbing himself all over Crowley's warm body made him shiver with _need_.

Kissing drew another moan from Crowley; so very gratifying it also spurred Aziraphale into taking off his waistcoat. He'd meant to simply miracle it onto the nearest chair, but Crowley moved at the same time, slipping it off his shoulders to hold it gently, carefully folding it and stepping back only far enough to place it on the chair next to the door.

Aziraphale felt like his core was on fire. [6.3]

He let Crowley undo his shirt as well. Unlike the demon, he wore normal human clothes because he liked the way they felt against his skin, the extra layers a comfort to him, in some ways even a defence. In this case, it felt like Crowley was slowly helping him out of all protective layers, and not all of them were clothes related.

The chill air ghosted over his heated skin and Aziraphale shivered a little. Not only from the chill itself but from the way Crowley was watching him, eyes heavy-lidded and lips slightly parted, the tip of his cleaved serpent's tongue peeking out.

This was so rare a treat to Aziraphale. While Crowley would often relax in his company and let his more serpent-like appearance peek out, he didn't often show this much at the same time.

Aziraphale realised that he really wanted to feel the tip of that tongue against his own. Wondered what kind of sensations it might awaken.

Not really seeing any reason to not follow his first instincts, Aziraphale leaned forward, pausing with lips almost touching Crowley's. At no point did he break eye contact and he was rewarded with the smallest contraction in the serpentine eyes, seeing the welcome in them, meeting Crowley in a soft kiss that turned indecent in less than a heartbeat.

Aziraphale struggled with his own self-control. He'd promised himself that they would do this slowly, that they would do this right. After the mad sex on the floor, Aziraphale knew one of them would have to keep a cool head if they were to ever have anything but just sex whenever the urge struck.

At that moment, though, it was really difficult for Aziraphale to keep the silent promise he'd made himself and, by proxy, Crowley; to take it slow. And it was all blasted out of the water when Crowley opened his mouth and the serpent's tongue pushed against Aziraphale's, invading his mouth, and, as much as it would make it sound like a trope from some threepenny bodice ripper, ravished him ever so thoroughly.

It wasn't easy for Aziraphale to focus on anything. Crowley kept fighting him - not to get away, but to get more, closer, to be the one in control. Realisation struck like lightning when Aziraphale denied him this and held him in place. The keening noise this ripped from Crowley's throat was amazing and reverberated right down Aziraphale's throat. He had to break the kiss for a moment and all he could do was hold Crowley still, meeting his eyes 

Drawing on thousands of years of cold baths and iron control, Aziraphale leaned in and pressed a much gentler kiss to Crowley's mouth, feeling Crowley railing against him. The almost-mewl escaping the demon when he was, for want of a better word, thwarted.

Aziraphale let go of him and put a hand on either side of Crowley's head, holding him still as he controlled the kiss, keeping Crowley's hellfire at bay, so to speak. What he wasn't keeping at bay were Crowley's roaming hands, though. One had mysteriously managed to undo all the buttons of Aziraphale's shirt as well as the button of his trousers while the other one was pressing bruises into Aziraphale's left arsecheek.

Aziraphale wanted to tell him to slow down, but he didn't want to break the silence. It felt like this was far too important a moment to tarnish with words. All that would fit would be moaning and softly-breathed nonsensical words.

This time it was Crowley who gentled the kiss, pulling back enough to nibble at Aziraphale's bottom lip. "So good to me, angel. Didn't know I could have this."

Aziraphale swallowed hard. "Always, darling, always." He let Crowley take a step back, however much he wanted him back flush against him.

The demon unbuttoned the last of Aziraphale's shirt, ever so mindful of it. Once he had the shirt off, he folded that one as well, eyes never leaving Aziraphale's as he stepped back to put it on the chair, on top of the waistcoat.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and the moment they weren't touching, he found his self-control again. As Crowley turned back to him, Aziraphale ran a finger along the waist of Crowley's stupidly tight trousers and the demon's mouth curved into a smirk. It would have looked more menacing if not for the fact that Crowley's lips were red and glistening from their kissing.

Feeling a burning need to kiss again, to make them even redder, Aziraphale leaned in, aiming for a soft kiss, realising at the very last moment that if he wasn't careful he might derail where they had finally gotten to. The softness that Aziraphale showed Crowley had so far mostly yielded a mess, hadn't it? Knowing he had to stay firmly in charge or he'd have to start over again, Aziraphale bit lightly at Crowley's lower lip, feeling the demon almost vibrate as he pushed closer to him.

"Angel, careful, don't write checks you're not ready to cash in," Crowley rumbled against his mouth.

It took Aziraphale a moment to parse the meaning of that. Even if he wasn't familiar with it put that way, he could easily understand what Crowley meant. And normally, just create that level of exasperation he loved so much in the demon, he'd play dumb and act like he didn't know the term.

In this case, Aziraphale wasn't going to risk the moment by doing so. Instead, he put his hands on Crowley's hips and squeezed, reminding Crowley of his strength as well as assuring him of his intentions.

"I would never, my dear, now if you'd be so kind as to do away with these ridiculously tight legwarmers of yours, I believe you would find me eternally grateful." He squeezed Crowley's hips again for good measure.

Crowley inhaled sharply, and his exhalation a moment later burst hot and enticing against Aziraphale's lips.

"Are you trying to leave bruises, angel?" Crowley almost purred as he put his hands on top of Aziraphale's. "You can, if you want - you know?" The latter could have just been to make sure that Aziaphale knew he was alright with it, but Aziraphale caught the meaning of it.

"I don't want to leave that kind of bruises on you, Crowley, while I'm in perfect control of my strength, I could easily snap a bone in two." Aziraphale noticed the slight pout on Crowley's face and smiled. "Though I'd like to do this." He slipped his hand out from under Crowley's and reached up to bury his fingers in Crowley's hair, tugging his head to the side before pressing his lips against the pale column of Crowley's neck.

"Ah, angel, fuck-" Crowley managed to get out before it became an inteligible throaty whine.

Biting down, even lightly, he could tell that Crowley was more than amenable in this, the small breathless noises, the shivers and twitches of his hips. He lifted his hands to put them on Aziraphale's hips and pulled him in, pressing his lanky body as close to Aziraphale's as he could. Just for good measure, to make sure it stuck, Aziraphale ran his tongue over the bite, then sucked lightly on it for a moment, because their human vessels healed fast, and Aziraphale wondered if perhaps Crowley would enjoy being marked. Perhaps this was something to investigate further at a later point.

This would mean quite some extensive, hands-on research, he felt, but for now he had a rather different agenda.

"Crowley, trousers, if you'd please." Really, Crowley had a one-track mind, the Serpent of Eden currently writhing against him like he was trying to scratch an itch. Not really too far from the truth, at least metaphorically speaking.

"Huh?" Crowley pulled his head back enough to stare at Aziraphale as if he did not possess the ability to process language at all. Then he blinked, his eyes regaining some clarity. "Ah, of course."

A snap of the fingers and Aziraphale had more naked skin than he'd expected to have access to so fast, pressed up against his own still partly dressed corporation.

"Seems to me that you're the one a little overdressed now," Crowley mumbled against his mouth before kissing him again. A kiss that Aziraphale would have expected to be hard and demanding, but one that was rather light, teasing and inviting. Perhaps this was going in the right direction after all.

"You wily demon," he muttered when Crowley broke the kiss again. "Perhaps you should do something about that then?"

Aziraphale more or less expected Crowley to snap and do away with his trousers as well, but for once the demon seemed to be on the same wavelength. Whereas his trousers would have been a pain to try to get off - apart from the fact that they also weren't real— Aziraphale favoured a more well-tailored and comfortable cut.

And above all, real trousers that, when cared for right, would last for a very long time.

Aziraphale was more than a little pleased to realise that while Crowley would tease him for his clothing style, the demon was very careful as he undid the belt, button and slowly pulled the zipper down.

Aziraphale all but held his breath as Crowley slowly knelt, taking the trousers down with him, leaving Aziraphale standing in his plain white underwear. He put his hands on Crowley's shoulders for balance as he was urged to lift his feet, one by one, to allow Crowley to take his shoes off and slide the trousers down over tartan socked feet.

He didn't miss the way that Crowley ran a finger along the edge of the garters, one after the other. Even pushed the tip of his finger inside to test the elasticity.

"Angel?" Crowley's voice was thick with something unnamable as he stared at them. And Aziraphale fully thought he'd be ridiculed for them. Then Crowley looked up with an utter intrigued look. "Would you, I mean, would you consider taking on a female form at some point and letting me dress you up in long, silk stockings and garter belts?"

Aziraphale knew his underwear wasn't hiding much and neither was his rapid, shallow intake of breath.

Crowley's eyes seemed to almost darken. "I'll take that as a 'yes'?"

"Maybe," Aziraphale managed to get out. This was rapidly spinning out of his control and by now he wasn't even sure if he cared all that much. "It's a definite 'maybe', I think." 

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "How eloquent of you, angel," he said, pressing a lingering kiss to Aziraphale's thigh before putting Aziraphale's shoes to the side, standing up and stepping back to fold the trousers and put them on the chair.

"We can't all be silver-tongued devils," Aziraphale replied with a soft smile. He used that moment of no touching between them to recover his equilibrium. Crowley's suggestion had derailed his thought-process completely for a moment, the mental image of what he'd asked for, more alluring than he'd thought it could be.

Crowley refrained from answering. Instead he crowded Aziraphale back up against the bed.

Aziraphale twisted enough to shift their places and a moment later Crowley was flat on his back on the bed, a look of surprise and glee in his eyes.

"Angel, how forceful," he said, breath hitching as he let his legs fall to the sides, parting to lead the focus to his very male Effort. He followed Aziraphele's eyes and smirked. "Any preferences?"

"You're perfect as you are, my dear," Aziraphale replied. And he was. All lean, long lines. The human body really was ridiculous to look at, especially in the flushed state of arousal. "If you would be a dear and move further up the bed?"

Crowley gave him a long look but refrained from saying anything. He did, however, brace his heels on the bed and did as he was asked.

Aziraphale bit his tongue before praise could fall from his lips. He had to keep a clear head and make sure that he didn't push Crowley into the same problems that had arisen previously. As much as he quite liked Crowley's serpent form, mid coital change was not on his list for the day. And it was a real possibility if he wasn't very careful about how comfortable Crowley was.

Slipping his underwear off, Aziraphale dropped it and snapped his fingers, relocating it on top of the clothes that Crowley had so carefully folded on the chair. He turned to the bed and put one foot up to undo the garter. There was a subtle shift and he looked up to find Crowley biting his lower lip.

Inspiration struck like a small current of electricity. "Would you like me to keep them on?" he asked, quietly, keeping his voice even. Crowley had shown a certain interest when undressing him and hadn't removed them when he'd taken Aziraphale's shoes and trousers.

Crowley nodded, a barely-there movement of the head, but at no point did he look away from Aziraphale's hands where they were touching the garters, ready to undo them.

Aziraphale let his fingers linger for a moment, then let go, letting the elastics of the garters snap against his skin. Not enough to sting, but loud enough to be heard by Crowley.

A small keening noise escaped the demon and for a moment he looked torn between embarrassment and utter, unbridled pride.

Ever the gentleman, Aziraphale chose not to call any attention to it. Instead he climbed up onto the bed, settling between the invitingly open thighs of his once-adversary.

Bending down, he pressed a light kiss to the soft skin of Crowley's inner thigh. Adversaries; had they ever really been? Had it not been a farce since the first moment of their acquaintance?

A flash of movement drew his eye as Crowley reached for him, but seemingly aborted before he could touch. Crowley let his hands fall to his sides with a small sigh, fingers lightly clenching at the covers he was lying on top of.

"Never be afraid to touch," Aziraphale said, so quietly it was almost a whisper. He kissed his way up one thigh, completely ignoring the straining erection to press his lips against the soft skin of Crowley's belly.

"Savouring," Crowley mumbled, staring unblinkingly at Aziraphale, like he was afraid of what he might miss should he blink even once.

Bending his neck again, he lingered with his lips against Crowley's sternum. Aziraphale realised why the look in Crowley's eyes had been so familiar. Even as they would normally be covered by his tinted glasses, there was an intense focus that he'd witnessed before. Whenever he ate and Crowley would sit across from him, this was how the demon would watch him. Taking in every little sigh and swallow.

Aziraphale closed his eyes. To be gifted something like this? His old thoughts of never being worthy enough reared their ugly head for a moment, but he ruthlessly squashed them. He was worthy because this gift was given without expecting anything in return because this was a gift given by Crowley that he had been trying to give for thousands of years.

"Hold on," Aziraphale said, voice still barely a whisper.

He pushed himself further up until he was hovering over Crowley. Nosing his way along Crowley's jaw, he laid down on top of the demon and felt as much as heard the sharp inhalation as their efforts were pressed together, forcing them both to hold still for a moment, getting used to the overwhelming feeling of heated skin against heated skin.

Their first time had been hard and fast, still dressed, second round on the floor a moment later, pretty much as well. Yet here they were, naked in bed together, their corporations reacting so perfectly to one another. Now all Aziraphale had to do was keep enough brain capacity active that this wouldn't escalate. Though for once they seemed to be on the same page, both of them adjusting to the closeness.

Crowley pushed his hips up and Aziraphale couldn't help but roll his own, for all intents and purposes pinning him to the mattress. And Crowley let go of the mattress, hands landing on Aziraphale's hips, fingers digging almost painfully into the flesh. A flash of recognition and Aziraphale felt his body flush with the thought of having five finger-shaped bruises on either hip tomorrow.

Aziraphale dug his own fingers into the mattress on either side of Crowley, rolling his hips again. As if through an unspoken agreement, Crowley turned his head at the same time as Aziraphale lifted his, blindly fumbling into an openmouthed and messy kiss. Unlike the previous carefulness that had been necessary to avoid overwhelming Crowley, this one was perfect in all its glory. Crowley was obviously too preoccupied with their current situation to find anything emotionally hard to process.

And Aziraphale was too far gone to worry. Crowley's mouth opened under his, mirroring his body cradling Aziraphale's. His tongue was still its split glorious self, strong and lovely where it brushed and pushed against Aziraphale's, ever so responsive to Aziraphale tilting his head to the side and deepening the kiss. So much dexterity and strength, such a perfect allegory for the demon himself.

When they did break the kiss, Crowley threw his head back, hissing and cussing, hips arching to push against Aziraphale. If nothing else had been up until now, Aziraphale could see this as the most humbling moment. Crowley coming undone like this; under _his_ hands, _his_ mouth, _his_ body.

He'd be lying if he thought he wasn't teetering as close to the edge as Crowley was. He could feel the same tension and high in Crowley's body that he could in his own. The liquid heat pooling in his guts, tightening in his testicles.

This was so far beyond what he'd ever experienced in the pleasures of the flesh. He'd lain with men before, but how they had been barely a pale echo of what he was having now, of the absolute abandon which Crowley was gifting him.

Forcing their mindless rutting to a slower pace, Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to draw this out, for eternity if possible. Crowley's warm and sweat-slick skin against his own, his sinewy body contorting in pleasure under him as if he was in his serpent form.

However, had he been in serpent form, then Crowley wouldn't have been able to keep the almost bruising grip of his thighs around Aziraphale's hips, heels of his feet pushing into the backs of Aziraphale's thighs.

"Aziraphale, please, mercy," Crowley gasped.

He realised that in slowing down, he was forcing Crowley to do the same by denying him the friction he so desperately wanted. Well, he could aim for somewhere in between, but he really shouldn't be so selfish. Just because he didn't want it to end just yet, it didn't mean that Crowley wasn't desperate to climax.

Honestly, they weren't bound by human refractory time, so there was no reason why they couldn't be doing this again shortly. And Aziraphale reminded himself that this was just as much for Crowley's as it was for his own pleasure.

He might not be a particularly good dancer, but he knew that it took two to tango. [6.4]

"I'm not holding you back," he muttered against Crowley's collarbone. He pushed his hips forward, a little harder, a little faster and Crowley keened, body arching under Aziraphale's, in turn, sparks flying through Aziraphale's mind, his chest constricting and expanding at the same time. It was madness but such a sweet, sweet madness. He could feel how hard Crowley was trying to breathe, needed or not, he was greedily gasping down air.

Crowley growled under his breath and slipped his hands down a little further, this time digging his fingers into the plush flesh of Aziraphale's arse.

Aziraphale cried out, partly in surprise and partly because how could he not? Demonic strength wasn't a walk in the park and while it wasn't quite painful, because he wouldn't let it be enough to stop them, he'd most certainly have bruises, and he'd feel them when sitting down, when moving. It was a glorious thought.

And Aziraphale realised that holding back was futile anyway. The bruising grip of Crowley's bony fingers broke the last vestiges of self-control and restraint. He forgot for a moment even his own strength, grinding down and biting into Crowley's shoulder.

"Fuck, angel!" Crowley just hung onto him, moaning and crying out as he spent himself between them. The whole shaking and heat pushed Aziraphale past the point as well, his body seized by pleasure, coloured, heated points where their bodies were touching, even more so where Crowley was still hanging onto his arse.

The rush of release spiralled through him, curled in his belly, his chest, his thighs and toes, between his shoulder blades and all the way to his fingertips.

Aziraphale realised that he'd dug his fingers so hard into the mattress that there were now five finger-shaped holes on either side of Crowley. And it hadn't gone unnoticed, in the same way that the white wings curved around them probably hadn't either.

"If this is what I get when you let go, angel, let's do this again." 

Thankfully, Aziraphale was too spent and high on endorphins to feel embarrassed. He'd never been intimate with anyone and had his wings unfold on their own. He shivered when Crowley touched a fingertip to a feather.

"They're a bit of a mess, though," the demon muttered, stretching under him.

"They're perfectly fine," Aziraphale argued weakly.

Instead of poking fun at the fact that his wings really were in a bit of a state, Crowley nuzzled the side of his head. "I'd be happy to help you groom them."

Aziraphale felt his body go still. To him, to angels in general, grooming was quite intimate and not simply offered up like this. And this was coming from Crowley who could barely handle a kiss without it being a precursor for sex.

"You don't have to say yes, angel, I mean-"

"No! I mean, yes," Aziraphale managed to force out, hiding his face against Crowley's shoulder. "Whenever you want to. If you really want to." He shifted a little to take his full weight off Crowley, though not enough to put any space between them.

"It's no problem, angel, you might not be using your wings much, but tidy feathers are more comfortable than messy ones." Crowley's breath was warm and lovely against his ear, his hands strong and firm where they were cupping the edges of his shoulder blades, just shy of touching feathers. "I can do it now?"

* * *

_Well done_ , you _stupid_ demon. Hot and heavy sex and then he had to take it into the minefield of the kind of intimacy that grooming was? And the way Aziraphale had frozen in his arms for a moment had almost made him flee.

Not that he could have, he was after all pinned under a rather sated angel at that very moment, whose wings were out on full display. It still itched in his fingers to fix all the little feathers looking like they needed so much love and attention.

"Let me clean us up first," Aziraphale said, taking some of his weight off Crowley as he struggled to get up on his hands and knees. A snap of the fingers and they were as fresh and lovely as if they'd just had a shower. 

Crowley struggled to not ask Aziraphel to not do that again. The whole miracling away the mess tasted a bit like trying to get rid of evidence. He even wanted to ask him to lie back down on top of him, so they could do it like this, even if it limited his reach. However, before he could utter a word, Aziraphale was kneeling between Crowley's legs, skin flushed and begging for Crowley to touch.

Of course, if he was to touch the angel's wings, it would be better not to have any bodily fluids on his skin, his hands. Didn't mean he wasn't going to fight it next time Aziraphale decided to sweep away the mess.

"Oh, I should- do you want me to turn around?" Without waiting for an answer, Aziraphale lifted his wings and shuffled around until he was sat, kneeling on the bed - still between Crowley's legs.

Crowley was struck speechless as he looked at the wide expanse of pale skin, the curve of Aziraphale's bottom, as well as the bruises, pressed into either arse cheek. He held up a hand and stared at it. Those marks were from his hands, his fingers. He ached to lean forward and press each finger into the corresponding bruise.

Aziraphale seemed to have caught on to his hesitation, halfway turning to look over his shoulder. "Is everything alright, Crowley?"

Scrambling onto his knees, Crowley took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Yeah, just give me a moment, angel." 

After another moment's hesitation, Crowley reached out and tried to focus on the wings. The great, big fluffy wings - they shouldn't be so fluffy, they should be sleeker. Crowley was aware that they'd never look as sleek as his own, but somewhere closer maybe, would be better. At least none of the feathers seemed broken, but there were quite a few from a previous moult that needed to be removed.

"Angel, how are you not itching from shoulder to wingtip?" he muttered, finally managing to ignore the throbbing between his legs and the frantic beat of his own heart in his chest. He had to ignore it - if he paid it attention, he would have to face the fact that in offering this, he'd stepped into a situation that was perhaps beyond any kind of intimacy he could have imagined. And definitely more intimacy than he could handle without breaking apart.

"I- I guess it does, but I've grown used to it." Aziraphale gasped.

Crowley stilled his movements, fingers between feathers. He was a little lost in the texture of those feathers, not quite like his own, teasing against the skin of his hands, his fingertips. A few passes like this, and already they were looking much better. All the while a small pile of discarded moulted feathers were littering the floor.

"Angel, are you-" Aziraphale seemed so very tense and perhaps he'd been too rough.

"Yes, eh- I'm fine, dear, just-" Another gasp escaped him and his body shook. He was more or less curled in on himself, gasping and-

"Oh," Crowley muttered, realising what he should have known. "It's okay, angel, I'm in pretty much the same state again from trying to groom your wings."

Aziraphale shook. He turned his head and his cheeks were flaming red. 

"It's going to take a while to get through both wings," Crowley muttered, almost apologetically. He'd known this was sensitive territory, he really shouldn't have been surprised.

"Perhaps we should," Aziraphale mumbled, turning his head away from Crowley.

And Crowley knew what was coming. "No, angel, please, I promise, I can control myself." He'd offered the grooming because he'd wanted to, not because he was fishing for more sex.

Aziraphale froze in front of him. Wings arched to the sides, body flushed and inviting. "Crowley, please don't tell me you think this is your fault? Or that it's unwelcome."

"You've made no secret of it, angel," Crowley said with a sigh, shifting uneasily on the bed. He was of half a mind to just miracle any genitalia away but felt like it would be cheating. He should be able to do this without making a fool of himself. "You've indulged me tonight, but we both know that you want more than just sex." And Heaven's did Crowley want to give him that. Give him everything. He just wasn't very adept at doing so, at taking the love Aziraphale was offering him.

"And pray tell, Crowley, how does this not fall under more?" Aziraphale's voice nearly broke, his breathing more than a little laboured. "The sheer intimacy of this is perhaps even more than I was hoping for, and by far more than I thought I could handle."

Aziraphale winced as he flexed his wings, took a deep breath and sent them away, leaving a soft sparkle in the air, like one would see little sparks after looking into a light. He then turned around, the state of his arousal not exactly hidden. Flushed all over.

"I should be the one to apologise, my love, I was the one wanting intimacy and I go and ruin it by barely making it past the point where you touched my wings. I should have known better, should have known it was a jump off an edge rather than a steady step forward."

Crowley was so caught up in the image in front of him. Aziraphale's broad chest was flushed with exertion and arousal, his eyes wide and his emotions on display. A little worry, a lot turned on and in awe. Crowley couldn't stop himself from reaching out and pulling the angel forward into a kiss. He'd aimed for soft, but Aziraphale came willingly and a moment later Crowley was on his back once more, being kissed to within an inch of his life.

However, this time Aziraphale didn't bury his face in his neck and as he had a hand buried in Crowley's hair, Crowley couldn't look away either. Eye contact was apparently high on the angel's list and Crowley felt more naked than he ever had before.

Strike that - it could get, well, worse wasn't really the right word for it. It didn't so much get worse as it got a hell of a lot more intense when Aziraphale stretched out fully on top of him and Crowley couldn't help but wrap his legs around his hips again. And the intimacy definitely racked up when Aziraphale's counterpoint to rolling his hips was to kiss Crowley in the softest way imaginable.

Entirely Crowley's undoing. His body was singing, his chest bursting as his heart beat in dubstep and his mental chant of 'thiscan'tlastnothingthisgoodeverdoes' was trying hard to be heard over it.

The kissing that had so far reduced him to an incoherent wreck more than once. Not the deep, hot and sexually charged one of earlier, but the way that Aziraphale alternated between nibbling at his lower lip and engaging him in shallow kisses was undoing him.

And would he even consider stopping Aziraphale? No, not in a heartbeat. Was this the torture he was going to endure for the next thousand years? If so, he would come back begging for more, time and time again.

His climax took him by surprise, and as he arched up against Aziraphale, the angel swallowed his moans and wrapped them around his own.

It took him a while to come back to his senses, and Crowley realised he was slowly running his fingers through the angel's damp curls. While Aziraphale was muttering- Crowley frowned. "What the fuck are you apologizing for, angel?" Seriously, he'd never understand this impossible being.

"I wanted this all to be nice and slow tonight and instead I went and overdid it, didn't I? You haven't exactly reacted well to forced intimacy up until now."

Crowley blinked, blinked again. "Angel, forced intimacy? You didn't force anything, you idiot."

"I accused you of sending mixed signals, and yet when I try to do what's right, I all but maul you in the bed as I accused you of doing to me downstairs."

Crowley felt caught between a laugh and a cry. What came out wasn't something a human throat could produce. "Angel, I need you to understand that if I didn't want this, I'd have stopped you."

"Yes, but-"

"No buts, Aziraphale, I mean it. Just… I might not react well to emotional intimacy, but it's not because I don't want it, okay?"

Aziraphale didn't answer him at first, just looked slightly ill at ease.

"Angel?" Crowley packed enough warning into the name. He had to nip this in the bud or Aziraphale would most assuredly go back to not giving in to any kind of intimacy, emotionally _or_ physically. "Promise me."

"Alright," Aziraphale muttered. But at least he looked sincere.

"And never ever tell anyone about this."

Aziraphale blanched and Crowley groaned. "No, I'd love for you to shout _that_ from the rooftops, but don't tell anyone about _this_ ," he emphasized, pulling Aziraphale into his arms, and snapped the quilt from under them to cover them.

"Oh, the, eh-" Aziraphale said, taking a deep breath.

"Don't make me use the word 'cuddling' alright, angel? We're not." Crowley tried to hide a grin. He knew perfectly well that the angel would see right through him.

"Ah, so we're not currently cuddling," Aziraphale said, sliding a little to the side to allow Crowley space to breathe and to be comfortable. "I take it this is close encounter _fraternisation_ , then?"

"Don't use the f-word, angel," Crowley said, pinching a rather nice bit of arse, conveniently under his hand.

Aziraphale made a high pitched noise and Crowley did it again.

"Stop it, you horrible serpent," Aziraphale chuckled, grabbing his chin and holding his head still to kiss him.

Crowley felt the telltale moment of his instincts telling him to run-hide-attack and crushed it like an unfortunate ant under his metaphorical bootheel. It didn't quite shut it up, but he soldiered on, letting Aziraphale take the lead.

As if he understood, Aziraphale nipped at his bottom lip. "Well done, my dear."

Crowley shivered. That… was unexpected. Possibly something he should be looking into at some later point. Maybe even soon, but he was distracted as Aziraphale lifted his hand to snap his fingers. It was obvious what he was about to do. Crowley stayed his hand. "Don't."

Aziraphale paused and made an inquisitive noise.

"It's like you're removing evidence," Crowley finally admitted. He could hear how stupid it sounded.

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, then held him tightly. "I never meant for it to feel that way."

"I know, angel, it doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," Aziraphale argued. "If you feel that way, it won't bother me to just have a shower in a bit."

"Bath," Crowley said, feeling heat rise in his face. He had the most horrifyingly cuddly image in his head of a bathtub, Aziraphale and himself. And a lot of bubbles. "Even if you don't have a tub-"

"I do now," Aziraphale said, a small cough revealing more than any words.

Those words, the demeanour, the whole _Aziraphale-ness_ caused feelings to bloom in his chest again, like something in there was bleeding, but it wasn't oozing blood. It was openly gushing out something else, attraction and delight. And it was so achingly familiar. The first true emotion he'd felt after the fall, as he'd stood on a wall above a garden, the angel at his side admitting to having given his flaming sword away.

And Crowley finally understood. Or at least took a step closer to doing so. This ridiculous man-shaped being was a perfect match for him.

* * *

6.1 Which was to say, not cool at all. In all things cool, this move was so low on the list that it wouldn't even get an honorary mention. Return to text

6.2 Ponder this: If there is but one angel, who is the cause of it, present to hear a demon moan, does he make a sound? Return to text

6.3 Which it always was, with the fire of righteousness, but this was an altogether different kind of fire. Return to text

6.4He knew how to do the gavotte, but as this would entail more than two people, it worked less well for a sexually related metaphor. Return to text


	9. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which a demon tempts an angel first into exchanging a lovely male form for some female curves, and then some lingerie shopping. Raise your hand if you didn't see this backfiring on Crowley. This chapter also has some ineffable wives intimacies, so the E rating is carrying on._

"Angel!"

Aziraphale looked up from the book he was currently enjoying. "In the back, dear."

It had been a strange, if lovely week since they'd last done anything out of the ordinary like dining in public or go for walks - or even feed the ducks in the park. And Aziraphale expected Crowley would be up to something. Since they'd started down the road of carnal pleasures every few days, a week at the most, Crowley would come to him with _that_ look in his eyes or _that_ swing to his hips.

And Aziraphale would take his lead. Because it was just as much a reward to Crowley for trying so hard to be emotionally available to him when they were together, as it was a pleasure for Aziraphale. And he didn't merely try. He succeeded more often than not. He still occasionally failed, but now, in public, he'd hold Aziraphale's hand, walk hand in hand, even sometimes lean in to kiss him on the cheek.

Aziraphale counted all the victories, great as well as small.

Today, something sounded vaguely off about Crowley. Well, maybe not off, so much as 'different'. When Crowley rounded a bookcase and came into sight, Aziraphale quite found his breath taken away. It didn't happen often, and nine times out of ten it was Crowley's fault anyway.

"You look absolutely ravishing, my dear," Aziraphale said, marking his place in the book with an old receipt from 1983 before putting it down. [7.1]

"Thank you, angel. Felt like a bit of a change," Crowley replied, almost preening as she came to a stop in front of Aziraphale. The shift in vocal cords explained why her voice had been a bit off from most days. And she moved even more like a viscous liquid in this shape. One that Aziraphale would love to run his fingers through.

She was also dressed to the nines; black pencil skirt, ankle boots with high heels and a red shirt, reminiscent of a certain serpent's underbelly. All was topped with a lovely short, black jacket currently draped over her arm. Her hair was short like it had been in her male form, but added was one side shaved close to the skull while the other looked artfully tousled.

Like she'd just rolled out of bed.

He'd seen Crowley in a female body quite a few times, and he'd be lying if he claimed not to find her most enticing. While human females didn't draw his eye beyond the point of 'that looks nice, pretty, lovely,' apparently Crowley in this shape would always make him sit up and pay attention, as one might say.

"And speaking of change," Crowley said, or rather purred as she leaned in over him, deep red lipstick catching Aziraphale's eye. "Angel, we're going shopping."

"Shopping, my dear, whatever for?" Aziraphale asked, his attention diverted terribly by the open collar of Crowley's shirt. The most amazing, subtle perfume wafted at him, curling around his olfactory sense, promising him decadent delights. [7.2]

Obviously fully aware of what she was doing to him, Crowley slid sideways into his lap, legs crossed over the arm of the chair and Aziraphale could do nothing but put his arms around her very lovely corporation. She wore a determined look on her face as she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in for a kiss. She even kept it relatively soft and Aziraphale might have melted a little on the inside. While some outside parts were very much hardening.

"Mmmm, angel," Crowley muttered against his lips while she was playing with his hair. "For what I have in mind perhaps a female vessel would be better."

Aziraphale blinked in confusion. His mind was busy conjuring up ideas of what they might spend the afternoon doing. And he'd been the one to accuse Crowley of going straight for the sex. Why, he was no better himself, was he?

"Why would you make such a suggestion?" he finally managed to ask when his mind caught up with her words. He ran his hand down the length of her silk stockings. So very lovely and soft and smooth.

"I've decided you need new clothes, angel, and while I'd love to update your wardrobe, I just realised that it'd be such a hassle with a hard-on. It's a bit difficult to hide." She kissed the corner of his mouth. "I guess you could go without any effort, but that'd just be boring."

"Really, my dear, I know you make fun of my clothes, but you don't -," Aziraphale began. This was after all a conversation that more or less dated back to before their more intimate relationship. Really, Aziraphale might admit to himself in a dark moment that he'd stopped staying on top of fashion when Crowley had ridiculed his outfit in Paris in 1793.

Perhaps it _was_ only fair if she was the one to treat him to a new wardrobe. Then he realised what she'd suggested. "You want me to go out with you in a female form?"

"I've only seen you in female form all covered up once or twice, angel." Crowley pouted at him. "Indulge me?"

"Would the purchases in some way involve silk stockings and garter belts?" Aziraphale asked quietly. He hadn't forgotten Crowley's suggestion.

"You remembered, angel!" Crowley said with delight, kissing him long and hard. "And I'd love for that, you know. Just like these." She took his hand currently cupping her knee and slid it slowly up under her skirt.

His mouth ran dry, even more so when his fingertips encountered lace and what was obviously the edge of the silk stockings. The idea of donning such and letting Crowley peel him out of them…

"I, you'll have to be patient with me, dear, I haven't worn a female corporation for a long time."

"You're doing it?" Crowley asked, almost breathlessly. "You spoil me, angel." She kissed him deep and hard and Aziraphale felt like the whole world was spinning and his lap was cold as she swung her feet to the floor and teetered a few steps forward on her high heels while straightening her skirt.

"You know I like indulging you, my dear… girl," Aziraphale said, trying to calm his body down. It would take some work for him to change. He was fairly sure that due to the frequency with which Crowley changed, his, or in this case, her changes were probably less troublesome.

As it were, he knew he was out of the habit of doing so and that his current vessel would fight him all the way. However, it seemed that Crowley was very happy that he was even attempting it, and he'd hate to let her down.

"Start with the basics," Crowley said, turning like she was on the runways of Paris, hand on hip, looking expectantly at him. "The core, angel, find the balance point and change it - you remember how to do this - it's like riding a bike."

"You know very well I never mastered that," Aziraphale said with a sigh as he stood, taking a deep breath. 

Crowley sniggered and Aziraphale opened his eyes to shoot him an annoyed look. One time and he'd never live it down, obviously.

"Come on, angel, concentrate."

Aziraphale closed his eyes and did as he was told. Crowley was right in that aspect. Once done it wasn't that hard to repeat. He kept his eyes closed even as he felt Crowley circling him.

"Mmmmm, angel, your bum is already nice and plump, can't wait to see what it's going to look like." Crowley's voice was low and to the right of him somewhere.

"You're not helping," Aziraphale said, trying not to laugh or descent into the lustful thoughts of just how hands-on Crowley would be with the aforementioned bum.

Strong, bony hands gripped his hips and Aziraphale drew in a deep breath. "Widen them a bit, angel, curves always looked good on you. These will look even better." Her voice was low and sultry, breath hot as it burst against the shell of Aziraphale's ear.

He could feel the soft swell of her breasts pressing against his back and he followed her advice. Imagined his hips widening, his chest filling out a little and let his corporation change where her hands slid over curves and planes.

Her hands cupped Aziraphale's breasts and she let out a small gasp. Sensitive didn't even begin to cover it, especially not in a freshly changed body.

"Don't sell yourself short, angel, a little bigger if you don't mind."

It was all about redistributing what his male body had had to other places on the female. Cushyness from belly sat better on her hips and bossom. "Really, Crowley?" she muttered, feeling the heat rise to her face.

"Angel, I like my hands full, alright?" There was a moment's hesitation, then Crowley squeezed her from behind again. "But only if you're comfortable with it."

She had to admit she was. Her corporation had wanted to add a bit more on top anyway, but she'd felt that perhaps it would be a bit much. However, letting the body change to what felt natural was actually a lot easier than forcing it into something it really wasn't. And perhaps she had been a little influenced by the expected looks of a modern woman.

"Oh, angel, that is just lovely," Crowley breathed against her ear. She tightened her grip again before loosening it.

"Ah, Crowley," Aziraphale arched her body - not entirely sure if she was leaning into the touch or trying to get away from it.

"Sorry, angel, still a bit sensitive, I guess," Crowley said apologetically - though it didn't keep her from squeezing once more.

Aziraphale sighed and rolled her eyes. Her clothes changed a little for her upper body to allow for the change in contours.

"Are you making an effort?" Crowley asked curiously.

Aziraphale blinked rapidly, a little surprised. Oh, wait, habits and all. Her male effort melded away and changed to fit the corporation. She inhaled sharply when Crowley slid a hand down between her legs, cupping her.

"Crowley, really darling," Aziraphale huffed.

Crowley let go of her and Aziraphale felt almost cold all the way down her back, but a moment later, Crowley was in front of her, pulling her in close. She was thankfully quiet, even if her kiss was wet and promised a lot more for later.

"Now we go shop, angel," Crowley muttered against her lips.

* * *

Crowley was beginning to wonder if perhaps she'd gone and done something extremely stupid. It wouldn't have been the first time she'd brought about her own downfall, or at least caused herself no small amount of irritation.

The sole reason for her downfall today stood in front of her looking like the most innocent flower on God's green earth. Which Crowley knew for a fact was a blatant lie. But there was no getting away from the fact that Aziraphale's female shape was utterly gorgeous, and it didn't seem to matter what Crowley was, male, female, whatever, the angel would never lose the appeal.

Now, it hadn't been half so bad if they'd stayed in the bookshop but quite frankly, the shopping had been her idea, so she had to swallow the urge to just call it all off and drag the angel back to the bookshop to ravish her. Because she'd have to. That vessel was designed specifically for Crowley to spread out on the bed and take apart.

With her hands, her finger, her tongue and if Aziraphale was particularly responsive, perhaps teeth as well.

Right now, however, was not the time to pull up the angel's skirts and see how fast and how many licks it would take to make her scream. And although she was wearing her sunglasses as always, Crowley knew full well she wasn't hiding anything from the angel at all.

Least of all how much she wanted to slide her hand down between her own legs while she watched Aziraphale parade one outfit after the other in front of her. And all by the angel's choosing so far. Which meant one was covering more than the last.

And she was doing it on purpose. She was getting even. Her beautiful bastard angel.

Aziraphale went into the changing booth and Crowley made a face. "Angel, you know full well that you can go for something less covering."

"Hush, you, I am quite enjoying myself," Aziraphale called back.

It hadn't taken all that much for Crowley to snap her fingers and make sure that no one would walk in on them. Not because she was planning anything nefarious (even if nefarious things were to happen), but because whatever the angel would be stepping out in, Crowley was hiding her from any prying eyes. As in all eyes, end of sentence. This was in so many ways a first, even if Aziraphale had presented as female at other points in time, this was the first time she was doing so because she felt like it and the first time she was openly out with Crowley while doing so.

And Crowley would jealously guard all their firsts.

She saw the changing room door begin to open and braced herself for another utterly conservative outfit. She'd seen so many already. Trousers, ankle-length skirts, just under the knee might fall under the most daring she'd witnessed so far.

"Maybe try something that doesn't cover," Crowley began and then shut her mouth, hard enough that she heard as much as felt her teeth clack together.

Yes, Aziraphale was most certainly doing it on purpose.

"Is this more to your liking?" she asked, coyly.

Crowley fought a barrage of urges. She wanted to put the angel over her knee and spank her good and well for this, she wanted to fall to her knees and offer eternal worship. She wanted to spread her own legs and offer herself to the angel right then and there.

Creme silk stockings, darker cream garter belt. Lacey underwear, wide on the hips to flatter them, lace covering the sides while simple and tasteful silk covered her effort. She had foregone the bra and was wearing a bustier that flattered her shape to no end and prominently displayed her breasts while being sensible in the support department.

Seemed Aziraphale was done teasing her. Or had just begun. Crowley wasn't entirely sure.

"Well, look at you," Crowley managed to croak out. She moved to stand, feeling a little unstable on her feet. She stalked around Aziraphale, who was smiling that little bastard smile of hers. It was recognizable no matter her choice of corporation.

She noticed one little detail, though, and it gave her an excuse to kneel in front of Aziraphale. She heard the inhalation of breath above her and it was her turn to smirk.

"Your garter belt is twisted a bit," Crowley said, reaching out to right it, allowing her fingers to linger against the soft, warm skin of an inner thigh. She looked up over the edge of her sunglasses and witnessed the most wanton look she had ever seen on someone else's face. She knew any advance she'd make, even inside this boutique, would be welcomed.

And that alone made her steel herself. "Delayed gratification," she said softly. "I am very much looking forward to getting you back to the shop, the bed."

She made to get up, Aziraphale's hand lightly on her shoulder - not keeping her in place, just grounding her. Crowley stopped her movement and leaned forward, pressing her nose against the enticing swell of the vulva and drew in a deep breath. Heady, it did nothing to curb her own arousal, the scent of female slick and the knowledge that she would be expected to touch and taste it later.

"Crowley-"

"I am going to feast on you as you would feast on a five-course meal at the Ritz," Crowley growled before standing fully, towering over Aziraphale in her heels.

Aziraphale closed her eyes and swallowed hard, her head tipped back in an invitation and Crowley managed to press a rather chaste kiss to her lips before heading back to her seat. Dropping into it, she waved her hand. "You can't wander the streets like that, angel, you're a walking invitation to sin."

"As long as the only one sinning is you," Aziraphale said, obviously aiming for charming or cool, but managing to sound nothing short of breathless.

"Hop to it, angel, the sooner you get dressed again, the sooner I can make good of my promise," Crowley grinned.

"I guess that means we're skipping lunch," Aziraphale said, mock tragically.

"Angel, get dressed," Crowley told her, not even bothering to hide this time as she rubbed the inside of her own thigh. And she felt like the world was at her fingertips as Aziraphale's eyes zeroed in on the motion.

"Just don't start without me," she said, her soft lips curving into a knowing smile.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Crowley said, winking behind her dark glasses. 

Once Aziraphale was back in the changing room, she sighed and relaxed back in her seat. A small miracle and her skirt had slits on both sides, letting her slide her hand up a little higher on the inside of her thigh. Scratching the lacquered nails against the swell of her own vulva through delicately thin silk underwear wasn't getting started without the angel. It was keeping it nice and warm and- she shifted a little and smiled to herself. Tempting to slip her fingers inside, but that _would_ be cheating.

As a demon, she probably shouldn't be worrying so much about that, but she'd promised Aziraphale so she was going to keep her word.

When the angel stepped out of the changing room, Crowley was sitting in her usual sprawl on the chair, her self control restored.

"You look gorgeous, angel, absolutely lovely." She stood and met Aziraphale in the middle of the room, taking the clothes that Aziraphale handed her. All of it would match what she was currently wearing. Silk shirts and above the knee skirts. A few pairs of trousers as well, because this was Aziraphale and habits died hard.

Taking it all to the till outside the changing room, Crowley made sure no one suspected what had nearly happened in the changing room. The camera footage would be faulty and bad in case anyone checked. And she happily paid for the purchase, even when Aziraphale tried to deter her.

"My treat, angel, told you." She didn't miss the clerk's soft smile at the moniker.

If they only knew.

But of course, Crowley had always used that term, even before it had become an endearment in the human vocabulary. It just suited her perfectly fine that it would also go on to become a way for her to use pet names without either of their former employers noticing or being able to say it wasn't right. And she was tickled pink by the thought that she was getting to take _her_ angel home for something either side would definitely disapprove of.

* * *

Tilting her head back over the back of the couch, Aziraphale bit her lower lip and fought helplessly against her eyes closing.

Bliss. There was no other way to describe it. Pure, undiluted bliss.

She'd thought it a good idea to emulate Crowley's high heels but her feet had been killing her as they'd walked back to the bookshop. Sure, she could have miracled the pain and unease away, but it never quite worked that well with her own human vessel.

Besides, she'd been the one to don the shoes and now she was paying the price. And yes, she had miracled the heels lower, eventually, but by the time she'd thought of it, her feet had already been thrumming with pain and the change of angle did little to help.

"Really, angel, one would think I was having my wicked ways with you," Crowley snorted from where she was digging her thumb into Aziraphale's instep.

"You are," Aziraphale sighed, feeling her body thrumming with pleasure. "You old serpent, with your temptations and _oh!_ Do that again." It's not like she hadn't expected Crowley to have her wicked way with her once they got back, but the demon had, as always, been paying attention and had graciously deviated from her plans.

"What, this?" Crowley said smugly, pressing harder into the heel she was holding firmly onto.

"Yesss," Aziraphale hissed, shifting her hips on the couch.

"Or would you like my hand somewhere a little higher?" she asked, voice sugary sweet as she slid a hand up to cup Aziraphale's calf, rubbing enticingly small circles with her thumb.

Aziraphale found her breath stuttering from her lungs. They hadn't done this yet, with these corporations, but she hadn't been able to think of anything else since the hours in the boutique trying on lingerie and clothes for her female form.

"Aaaaangel?" Crowley's voice was low and lovely and she was obviously waiting for an answer, her hand not moving any higher before she got a green light from Aziraphale.

Unsure how to voice it, Aziraphale let her foot slide to the floor, indecently parting her thighs, her skirt allowing her more than enough free room to do so without exposing anything as such. But _oh_ , how it felt like she was exposing herself, especially as Crowley was now free to move upward should she choose to do so.

There was no movement from her for a moment, then Crowley cleared her throat. "Angel, that's indecent, that's… you can't… how can I…"

Aziraphale could have sworn she felt like she was on fire. Now that Crowley had opened this conversation there was no control to be had over her body. Where she was ever so used to keeping her male corporation under ironclad control, her female was like a wild spirit, and would not heed any attempt at shackling it.

And it was glorious.

Forcing her eyes open, Aziraphale looked down at Crowley, whose eyes were the most amazing amber, no white left, just like her eyes would get when she forgot herself and didn't bother even remotely attempting human eyes.

Biting her lower lip again, Aziraphale reached for her, taking Crowley's hand from where it was still curled around her calf, just under the knee. Ever so slowly she guided the hand up under her skirt, to where her underwear was in a worse state than it had been in millennia.

Rather than attempt to speak again, Crowley's breath stuttered out, eyes wide and lips parted enough that Aziraphale could see the tip of her tongue. And now wasn't that a stroke of inspiration. Though, how she was going to get Crowley to do so without actually attempting to put it into words - because she felt her words were broken, too broken for her to actually convey what she wanted.

"Anything you want, angel," Crowley said, voice gravelly and barely above a whisper.

Whatever the noise escaping Aziraphale was, it must have been enough to let Crowley know what she needed. [7.3]

"Long silky stockings and garter belts, angel, you spoil me."

"Your suggestion, I believe," Aziraphale managed to say, unable to focus on much else than the feeling of Crowley running her long nails up the inside of the stocking, along the top, only barely brushing bare skin.

"Yes, I do occasionally have very good ideas," Crowley all but purred, shifting forward to push Aziraphale's skirt up a little, and just enough to lean up to brush her lips across Aziraphale's. 

Aziraphale could taste a bit of lipstick, which wasn't too bad, and a lot of Crowley, though there was a slightly different taste to the flicker of the tongue that slipped serpent-quick into Aziraphale's mouth, teasing in its brief visit.

And Aziraphale knew exactly where she wanted that tongue, because not only had Crowley given up on keeping her eyes fully human, her tongue had most definitely split to its serpent roots.

"Tell me what you want, angel, please," Crowley implored.

"Your tongue," Aziraphale blurted out, feeling the heat rise in her face.

Crowley's eyes widened, the tip of that damned tongue slipping out to wet her lips. "Your wish is my command," she managed to say, but there was none of the cool attitude that Crowley normally displayed.

Aziraphale didn't look away, couldn't even if she'd tried, while Crowley smiled at her before leaning forward and placing small kisses along her knee, further up along the inside of her thigh until she came to the garter belt.

And at this point, Crowley was hidden by the skirt Aziraphale was wearing and there was nothing for her but to hang on to the couch itself, her fingers digging into the cushions as all she had to go by was now no longer visual, but all boiled down to feeling Crowley's touch and her painted lips probably leaving stains on the silk stockings.

Aziraphale quite looked forward to seeing the stains afterwards. Like a trophy.

She could feel how Crowley's long fingers caressed the edges of the garters, one after the other, but she wasn't removing them. And knowing her, she wouldn't. Crowley hadn't made a secret of enjoying Aziraphale in those things. Regardless of gender as well.

It would have been funny to know such a little thing could make the great Serpent of Eden shiver and lose all her cool, but right now it was perhaps the hottest thing Aziraphale had ever heard of. And she'd read books, quite a lot of them, and a fair share of erotica.

She gasped a little louder than she'd intended when Crowley kissed her inner thigh and bit lightly into it. "Mind those teeth," she said, trying to put some warning into it, but well aware of the fact that she sounded like she was demanding more. More teeth, more sensations. "Crowley-"

"Easy, angel."

None of it could have prepared her for this whole thing, though. Right from the moment when she'd almost guiltily realised in the boutique that she held no little sway over Crowley. As much as she found her friend attractive, she had never really considered what reaction Crowley had to her, no matter her corporation.

When Crowley had pressed her face between her legs in the changing rooms, Aziraphale had nearly lost the ability to breathe, her whole focus on Crowley on her knees on the floor, nose pressed to Aziraphale's vulva, inhaling and knowing just how turned on Aziraphale had been during the whole thing.

And now she was breathing hot air against the most intimate place of this body. A part that Aziraphale hadn't even really investigated herself. She had taken on female form in the past, on a few occasions, but she'd never really had the time to touch it properly and back then she'd not really taken to self-pleasure yet. It hadn't escaped her attention that the more time she'd spent with Crowley, in any physical corporation, pleasuring herself had come naturally, eventually.

But always as a man. She'd be lying if she claimed that she wasn't looking forward to whatever Crowley might have in store for her. Right this very moment, she was nosing along the seam of the silk stockings and while it set off small fireworks in Aziraphale's stomach, she knew Crowley was working her way towards a bigger goal.

Something ticked along her skin. It could only be Crowley's tongue, but because it was split and narrower than a human's, it felt like nothing Aziraphale had ever experienced. Knowing snake anatomy and olfactory senses.

"Angel, you give off the most enticing scent," Crowley moaned, digging her fingers into Aziraphale's thighs, her flesh probably bruising under the touch and the thought only made Aziraphale breathe more shallowly.

She wanted to press her thighs together in reaction, but there was no way she could with Crowley currently sniffing and licking at her and, _oh dear_.

"Crowley," Aziraphale gasped. It wasn't even her skin she was licking.

"You're leaking through the silk, angel, if you could perceive your scent and taste the way I can, you wouldn't blame me for this."

"Oh, my dear, I would never," Aziraphale managed to say before she felt the chill of air hitting her private parts. The next moment descended into madness, her mind and body struggling to keep her coherent. Crowley hadn't been lying when she'd promised to feast on her like a five-course meal. 

Inhuman was the only way she could describe the feel of Crowley's tongue slipping inside of her. It was just a dip at first, a flicker of the split end of her tongue, first against the clit, sending a current through Aziraphale's body, making her gasp. Then she felt the pressure of Crowley's open mouth around her, the upper lip rubbing against the clit while the tongue slipped all the way inside her, far deeper than a human tongue ever could have.

Crowley worked a hand in alongside her mouth, and thumbed at the clit, falling back enough to leave a quick, shallow bite to the inside of Aziraphale's thigh. "Don't hold back, angel, no one can hear you, scream all you want."

And then she rubbed the clit and put her mouth against Aziraphale's slick opening again, thrusting her tongue inside.

Aziraphale wouldn't have been able to hold back anything, even a moan, and as it were, she arched her back, everything narrowed down to what Crowley was doing to her. And it wasn't like she needed her permission to scream, but she did, quite vocally, praise and curses falling from her lips.

It was all a little hazy for a moment, and bordering on too much. Mostly because Crowley was still doing obscene things with her tongue in quick and unpredictable flicks.

Something else intruded, though, and it took Aziraphale a moment to realise exactly what it was.

The scent and charged presence of an angel.

"Oh my," a voice broke the silence.

Aziraphale tipped her head a little further back over the arm of the couch and stared in silent horror at an upside-down version of the archangel Michael. Who, to be fair, looked about as appalled as Aziraphale felt, but obviously for very different reasons.

Crowley, at least, had stilled under Aziraphale's skirt, and for this, she was eternally thankful.

Aziraphale opened her mouth to say something, then frowned. What exactly was she supposed to say? Although if the way Michael was staring at her in surprise was anything to go by, there was no conversation opener coming from her either.

"Michael, hello. Um, would you give us a moment?" Aziraphale finally managed to say. 

Michael blinked a couple of times, then nodded and turned her back to give them some semblance of privacy.

Aziraphale hit Crowley's shoulder a little harder than she'd meant to, but she really needed her to not be breathing on some rather tender parts right now.

Crowley let out a muffled curse, then sat back up, the skirt messing up her hair, and Aziraphale had to fight the urge to topple her on the couch and kiss her silly at the very moment. Archangel be damned.

However, said archangel was standing a few feet away and Aziraphale really couldn't get herself to do such a thing.

Gingerly, she sat up, feeling exactly how sensitive Crowley had left her. How swollen and wet she still was. How much she really wanted to continue this upstairs. The look in Crowley's eyes as she licked her lips told her in no small terms that she wasn't alone in this wish.

"We have a visitor, dear," Aziraphale managed to say, her voice not breaking nearly as badly as she'd feared.

Crowley leaned to the side and ran a hand through her tousled hair, managing to make it look even more like what they'd been doing; having afternoon sex on the couch. "Yeah, I noticed."

Aziraphale opened her mouth to say something, but it fled her mind when she realised Crowley's lipstick was a bit of a mess. Obviously from having- Yes. Erm. Aziraphale coughed to clear her throat and reached out to try to remove it with her thumb. Which possibly only made it worse.

Crowley grinned at her.

Rolling her eyes, this at least gave Aziraphale something to focus on. She turned around, gingerly, and looked at the archangel. "To what do we owe the pleasure, Michael?" she asked.

Michael, taking this as a sign of it being safe to turn around again, eyed the both of them warily.

To Aziraphale's surprise, she didn't seem to be particularly surprised by finding them like this. Then again, hadn't Eric mentioned a rumour or two?

"We are here," Michael began, then paused. "No, that's not right. I am here of my own choice."

Aziraphale lifted an eyebrow and she could feel Crowley sitting up straight and paying attention. So not a sanctioned visit then.

"And your choice is made because of?" Aziraphale prompted. She really would prefer to have any Hellish or Heavenly visitors out the door as soon as possible.

"Gabriel has gone missing," she replied, looking pale and drawn.

Crowley leaned forward, body warm and reassuring against Aziraphale's back. "And what does that have to do with Aziraphale?" she asked, voice tight and careful.

If no one knew where Gabriel was it could mean anything from a new Apocalypse brewing to an imbalance in Heaven if it was sans an archangel. Which might also lead to another attempt at the End times.

"You hear things down here, you know… how things work down here." Michael looked a little distraught. "We have reason to believe that he is somewhere on Earth."

"Earth isn't exactly small, though," Aziraphale said slowly.

"We… I believe he is in London."

Aziraphale blanched. She'd thought she'd seen him, hadn't she? And Crowley had had a run-in with him as well. If Gabriel was out there doing his own business rather than Heaven's, then there would probably be no rules.

Well, it would be important if Michael was going solo in this search. Too many rogue angels, especially archangels, would be a mess.

"We'll keep our eyes open, we're going out later tonight for dinner, so perhaps you should be getting back to Heaven," Aziraphale hinted heavily. He needed to have a private talk with Crowley.

Michael gestured at her and shook her head. "Dressed like that?"

"And pray tell, what is wrong with the way I'm dressed?" Aziraphale asked, feeling rather miffed. So what if the laces of her bra were visible because she'd just had sex on the couch. Crowley had managed to undo most of the buttons before she'd gotten sidetracked under the skirt.

"Like… a brazen hussy," Michael said, looking more perplexed than outraged.

Aziraphale rolled her eyes and could feel Crowley shaking with laughter behind her.

"If it pleases me, yes," Aziraphale said, huffing in annoyance. "We'll let you know if we see him."

"Yes, alright," Michael said, shrugging. "Thank you," she added, as an afterthought.

"Don't mention it," Aziraphale said, a tingling sound and Michael was gone.

"Brazen hussy?" Crowley sputtered, then laughed loudly.

"Yes, thank you, Crowley, no need to make it worse," Aziraphale groused, turning while she was doing her buttons up again.

"Aw, angel, don't be angry, what does Michael know anyway?" Crowley reached for her and let herself fall back on the couch drawing Aziraphale on top of her. A snap of her fingers and a soft blanket covered them. "I think you look lovely."

"Well, yes," Aziraphale sighed. Crowley's opinion mattered more, after all. And to her surprise, she realised Crowley was the one initiating their cuddling on the couch. No stray hands to start another round of sex. 

Mind, with Michael in the mix, she knew neither of them was really feeling frisky anymore.

"I have to admit," Aziraphale sighed as she fitted herself as close to Crowley as she could get. "These bodies are rather more cushy to cuddle with."

"They are so, angel, I agree." Crowley fell silent, then made a small noise.

"What is it, dear?" 

"What do we do about Gabriel?" Crowley's voice was soft with an unfamiliar undercurrent of worry. "If Heaven is looking for him, it won't be long before Hell will be as well."

"We should perhaps make use of the connections we have," Aziraphale said quietly, a little distracted by Crowley's hand rubbing soothingly up and down her back. "Ask Eric or Igor if they might keep an ear open."

Crowley made a noise of agreement. "Maybe we should lay low for a while?" she suggested.

Right there, out of the blue, offering a solution to another one of Aziraphale's dilemmas.

"I may have an option for that," Aziraphale said slowly. "How do you feel about the South Downs, my dear?"

* * *

7.1: The receipt was for one (1) cup of tea and one (1) plate of biscuits. Return to text

7.2: This was actually, incidentally, the name of the perfume. Return to text

7.3 Somewhere between a whimper and a moan wouldn't quite cover it. Breathless like air wasn't to be had, broken and yet clear and insisting. Return to text


	10. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which domesticity is very good for Crowley. Aziraphale finally comes clean about the cottage, and all is well. (Also, we continue the e-rating ;) )

It felt surreal. The thought kept circling Crowley's mind. It wasn't that he didn't want to move out from the bookshop. He'd been struggling to find a way to ask this of Aziraphale since he'd witnessed the aforementioned bookshop go up in flames and had thought the angel had been gone for good.

And of course, it was silly to think that Aziraphale would cut all ties to his bookshop, but the angel had quite unceremoniously just told him that Eric would be minding the store.

"Demon." Crowley blinked in surprise.

"He has taste, he understands that the books shouldn't be sold and besides, I've put the more important volumes into storage." Aziraphale sighed contentedly and rubbed his thumb over Crowley's hip. "And he had a suggestion to make the front into a coffee parlour. You know, for all the demons who come for advice. He even asked me if I thought angels might need something similar," he said with a chuckle.

They were curled up together on the most decadently comfortable couch Crowley had ever been on. And he'd been on a lot since the invention of the first couch. The current one was most certainly a step up, dark red and more than big enough to hold the both of them. It was also situated in the living room of the cottage, right in front of a great big window that let a lot of sunlight in - which had made it Crowley's favourite spot right away. Well, second favourite. The bed was still his favourite.

"One would think you were collecting demons, angel," Crowley teased. Even if he felt an undercurrent of jealousy, which he quickly squashed. He had to look at all this from a certain angle and with Aziraphale having more or less handed his bookshop over to someone else to run, putting stuff into storage - this wasn't just a short term plan.

Aziraphale pinched his hip and Crowley, much to his embarrassment, let out a small surprised noise.

"No such thing, you're the only demon in my collection, the pride of it." Aziraphale slid a hand up, put two fingers under his chin and tilted his head enough that he could press a chaste kiss to Crowley's lips.

"Angel," Crowley whined, trying hard not to lose his composure.

"Hush," Aziraphale mumbled, kissing him again. "You have gotten so much better at this, my dear," he added.

The praise was a newfound thing for Crowley. Or perhaps simply unearthed, excavated. Laid bare. He'd always argued when Aziraphale would thank him, but inside, he'd always felt warm when he did. And even more so, now, because it seemed Aziraphale had caught onto Crowley perhaps having a slightly out of the ordinary reaction to praise.

At least it was a weapon the angel wielded with caution. And Crowley knew he'd never give it away either.

"Angel?" Crowley said, licking his lips as Aziraphale leaned back on the couch again, stroking a hand up and down Crowley's back. "Who did you borrow this cottage from?" He wasn't trying to trip Aziraphale up, but he was pretty sure that the signs were there.

Aziraphale drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. His face went from soft and inviting to having that little frown line between his eyebrows.

First of all, Aziraphale had tells when it came to keeping secrets. Little ticks and rapid blinking. And this cottage was one huge secret with a flashing neon sign hanging over it. Not to mention, the whole place was a little too 'Aziraphale' to be a coincidence. At first, a few days ago when they'd moved in here, he hadn't noticed, but there were also things that were very specifically _him_.

The garden that could do with a loving hand and a sharp tongue. There was the kitchen, which was more sleek and modern than he'd expected. The bathroom which was a strangely charming mixture of his own highly modern one and the cosy one that Aziraphale had hodgepodged together. Black cabinets and so pale cream, they were almost white, surfaces. A modern shower with enough settings to make a saint weep, or in this case, a serpent swoon. And the tub, black base and white insert, more than big enough for the both of them.

Crowley decided to test his little theory that this was not as new and coincidental as Aziraphale wanted him to think. "Angel, do you think we should bring some of my plants here?"

"Oh, yes," Aziraphale said, sounding a little spaced out from where he was currently rubbing the tip of his nose against Crowley's neck. It was a bit distracting.

"For how long did you say we could stay here?"

"As long as we need to," Aziraphale mumbled. "The owner won't mind."

Still telling the truth. Crowley grinned. "And if I ask for your honest answer as to who owns this place, will you tell me?"

Aziraphale stilled for a moment, then sighed. "I wasn't sure how to tell you. You seemed so satisfied and secure at the bookshop."

"Angel, I don't give a toss about the shop, but it was where you were. And while we're being honest, I haven't felt all that at home since it burned down. Bad memories and all," Crowley admitted, rubbing a finger gently over the shell of Aziraphale's ear.

"I felt stale," Aziraphale admitted. "Like I should be doing something new, after the Armageddon. I knew I couldn't fit myself back into the old box." He kissed Crowley's neck. "I didn't want to."

"I like you this way better too, angel," Crowley mumbled. They wouldn't be sitting like this if not for his angel's tenacity. "So you went and bought a cottage."

"Yes," Aziraphale agreed. "Do you like it?"

"As long as you're in it, yes," Crowley said softly. And if he was moving his plants in, he knew he'd feel the permanence of it, too. His angel would be here.

"Wherever you are, my darling," Aziraphale promised.

* * *

Aziraphale set his cup of tea down on the kitchen table. He'd just returned from the bookshop where he'd checked up on things. There was a ward on the passage that allowed them to travel back and forth to Soho in a few steps, with a few select beings being able to traverse them.

Outside he could see Crowley working on getting the garden into shape. It felt so strange to say so. The garden. Their garden. He'd taken the deed into Soho today and had it changed, so now both their names were on it. He put it down on the kitchen table as well. He wanted Crowley to see it when he came in.

As if Crowley knew he was thinking about him, he looked up at the window and smiled widely. Clapping his hands, dirt flew from his skin and clothes, scattered to the winds, and a moment later he was striding through the door, crowding Aziraphale up against the kitchen table, kissing him.

This was another thing since they'd left London. It had taken time to get him used to physical affection without it usually ending with sex, but after they'd moved to the South Downs, it was as if the relaxing environment had helped calm him down. 

Of course, quite often, they still ended up having loud sex, or long makeout sessions and Aziraphale would be lying if he claimed he didn't enjoy them. Any kind of intimacy with Crowley was more than welcome and wanted. It wasn't a lie to say that the more Crowley learned to love cuddling the more Aziraphale realised he quite liked the messy sex.

"How was London, angel?" Crowley asked, rubbing his fingers down over Aziraphale's bottom.

Aziraphale squirmed a little and smiled in reply, reaching up to put his hands on Crowley's glasses.

"I keep forgetting I don't have to wear them out here," Crowley mumbled and Aziraphale took that as acquiescence and gently lifted them off, folding them and putting them down on top of the deed to the cottage. Which Crowley still wasn't noticing, far too busy nosing along Aziraphale's jaw.

"London was as London always is," Aziraphale sighed. He so enjoyed it when Crowley was this relaxed. "Eric says demons are coming by more and more and are enjoying seeing what the fuss is all about. In regards to humans."

"You're not worried about demons running around London unobserved?" Crowley asked. He nuzzled along the jawline and nibbled at Aziraphale's ear.

In turn, Aziraphale let his head fall to the side, feeling more than a little stir in his nether regions when Crowley's fingers tightened on his butt.

"The ones I've met were all very much listening to Eric, so no, not really. And what if-" Aziraphale breathed in hard as Crowley's teeth closed lightly over skin.

Ah, a day for marking it seemed. Had been a while since that fancy had taken Crowley. And Aziraphale had proudly worn the outcome for several days. Helped along with a little miracle to make it fade slower.

Crowley pulled back a little, licking his lips, amber eyes meeting Aziraphale's. "You're brewing on something again, angel," he said, as always with a certain mirth and pride in his voice.

"What if they grow fond of earth and humanity the way we have become?" Aziraphale suggested, pouting. He really wanted Crowley's mouth back where it had been a moment ago. It had been far too long since he'd worn a mark high enough to be visible over his collar.

"You want them to understand why we tried to stop Armageddon," Crowley hedged. "You want your former bookshop to be a halfway house for demons."

"And angels, should any of them turn up," Aziraphale added. "None yet, but if it happens, why not? Earth is halfway between Heaven and Hell, after all."

"You're nuts, angel," Crowley said admiring, stealing a long, slow kiss. He pushed the deed and his glasses aside in order to clear the table before lifting Aziraphale up to sit on it. Then his eyes caught the piece of paper. And the obvious addition.

"Angel, you-" He buried his face against Aziraphale's shoulder. "Damn it, I was going to have you right here on the kitchen table and you've gone and- ngk, angel, you, I-"

Aziraphale rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the heat coming off the skin. "I'm not going to stop you."

"No, damn it, for this we're doing it in bed, because it'll be more than just a quick romp," Crowley replied, pulling back and dragging Aziraphale with him. "I intend to take hours and hours, angel, and we both know you like the decadence of our bed better than the hard surface of a table."

Aziraphale could only agree to that. He did indeed like to be spoiled for hours and hours in their lovely bed. In _their_ bed, in _their_ house.

Laughing breathlessly, he let Crowley drag him up the stairs to their bedroom. He breathed in deeply and felt the world tilt as Crowley spun him around and pushed him onto the bed, not particularly forceful, but the springy mattress under him made him bounce a little nonetheless.

"So forceful," he teased, barely concealing his glee because as much as he liked bossing Crowley around, he quite enjoyed it the other way around as well. Showed him that Crowley was more than a match for him. He watched as Crowley stripped off his clothes. He'd gotten used to seeing them disappear as soon as they left Crowley's hand, but it still made him giggle on most days when the thought hit that Crowley was, for all intents and purposes, not really dressed in the true sense.

Only on the truly cold days, Aziraphale knew, Crowley would dress in human made clothes. Because he'd frequently steal some of the sweaters that Aziraphale favoured in the winter. Not that _he_ ever got particularly cold, but he quite liked the idea that hot cocoa and warm sweaters went well together in the winter.

And as long as it was Aziraphale's sweaters, Crowley seemed to enjoy the concept quite a lot as well.

All thoughts of sweaters and cosiness during winter fled like dew to the sun as one very naked Crowley slipped onto the bed, crawling up to straddle Aziraphale's hips. He sat back, naked and glorious. Aziraphale let his gaze follow the narrow chest and waist to the bony hips, to the very obvious enjoyment of his lover. If the twitch to the already hard cock was anything to go by.

"Enjoying the view, angel?"

"Well, yes, how could I not, darling? It is quite nice and very nicely displayed for my perusal," Aziraphale replied evenly. There was no way that Crowley could be missing the pressure against his bum, because Aziraphale could most certainly feel his own erection straining against the weight.

How glorious these human forms were with their natural reactions to stimuli. And how much better when adding the ability to make it go for longer than any human could manage.

Crowley leaned forward, pressing his nose against Aziraphale's jaw, right under the ear where he was far too good at finding the truly sensitive spots. "Did I lose you there for a moment?"

"Just wool-gathering, love," Aziraphale breathed, tilting his head back and a little to the side, giving Crowley more room.

"Then I'm obviously not doing this right," Crowley said with a chuckle, slipping his tongue out to rasp it against Aziraphale's skin.

Aziraphale felt a shiver running from head to toe and back. "No, do keep going, you're doing _mar_ velous, my dear."

For a second or two, Crowley stilled, then let out a shaky breath.

And Aziraphale knew he could easily gain the upper hand if he wanted to. Could roll them over, hold Crowley down like he'd done last week, made him listen to Aziraphale sing his praise. [8.1]

Crowley had been a messy puddle of contentment for the entire night after that. It was a 'weapon' Aziraphale wouldn't deploy unless they'd agreed beforehand. He'd been a little scared and a lot humbled by the experience.

But as it were, Crowley had initiated and if Aziraphale got too carried away, he knew that he would spoil the moment for Crowley. Well, maybe not spoil, but he did love seeing Crowley take what he wanted, knowing that Aziraphale wanted to give it all.

Crowley sat back up, grinned down at him and put his hands on Aziraphale's shoulders, running them downwards, the clothes vanishing under his hands and reappearing, nicely folded, on the chair by the door.

"How creative," Aziraphale said, shivering a little at the brush of cool air skimming over his bared skin. As with so many things, though, he could easily override the human reaction and he didn't really feel the colder air.

Of course, it hadn't escaped Crowley's attention, few things really ever did. At least not the important ones. There were some things, of course, they had both been stupidly blind to.

"Angel," he said in a low voice, leaning down to cover Aziraphale with his own body, which now burned with an internal hellfire, warm and comforting against Aziraphale's skin.

He knew that Crowley would never hurt him. Actual hellfire would be too dangerous, but the heat from it coursing through Crowley's veins, felt through skin and corporation, they had realized, one memorable cuddling session, was absolutely wonderful.

Aziraphale also didn't want to tell Crowley that it made his eyes even more luminescent than normal. There was always a risk of making Crowley aware of something and he might try to hide it. The risk was less prominent these days, but it was always there, to a certain point.

Aziraphale reached up and framed Crowley's face with his hands. "My beautiful Starmaker, my Serpent of Eden, how did I ever deserve you?"

Crowley swallowed visibly and Aziraphale realised that when humans said that eyes were the windows of the soul, they weren't lying. Closing his eyes, Aziraphale drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry, my love."

"Wha'fo'?" Crowley mumbled, the heat from his face seeping through the pores of Aziraphale's hands.

"For stealing your thunder, as the humans put it so well," he said softly. "I did something nice for you, and you wanted to show me how pleased you were with it and I had to go and-"

Crowley put a hand over Aziraphale's mouth. "Hush, angel. Anyone ever tell you, you talk too much?"

Aziraphale just raised an eyebrow at him. There was a liquid feeling in his stomach at the thought of Crowley gagging him at some point. Not that they had to worry about being loud, the nearest neighbour was far away, but the thought of it…

And again Crowley was eerily good at reading him. It seemed since they'd opened up to this side of their relationship, the demon had gotten so much better at it. It probably should worry Aziraphale but quite frankly, after years of misreading each other and their mutual love, it was freeing to be so easily known.

"I'd love to gag you at a later point if you're into that," Crowley muttered, scratching his fingernails down over Aziraphale's chest, leaving a trail of superficial scratch marks in their wake. "Later, though, because I'll let you praise me if you'll let me have you any way I want."

Aziraphale's breath caught in his throat. "You would willingly-"

"Yes, angel, don't make me beg, it'll only embarrass the both of us," Crowley muttered, reaching up and pulling Aziraphale's hands away from his face, repositioning them along his chest.

"You spoil me, my lovely," Aziraphale said, feeling humbled and thrilled at the same time. "You are the lover I could have never imagined, the companion I thought I could never have." Pouring everything into it, he closed his eyes and carried on. "You fill the empty spaces in my soul, the ones I thought would forever be voids. You shine the softest and warmest light in my darkest corners."

Crowley bent down over him, he could feel it, his breath trailing from Aziraphale's neck to his sternum. He could feel the heat and dampness where Crowley's cock rubbed against his stomach, could feel the sweet swell of Crowley's arse where it enticingly slid over his own erection.

"Keep going, angel, I can handle it." Crowley's voice was almost inaudible but there was no mistaking the honesty in his words.

"You show me loyalty the likes of which I have never witnessed in all our years. You show me loyalty that I can not possibly have earned. You humble me-" A warm hand covered his mouth.

"Praise me all you want, angel, but do not belittle yourself. You know I will protect you until I draw my final breath, that I will not stand for anyone tainting your memory, least of all yourself."

Aziraphale closed his eyes, trying to ignore the dampness coating his eyelashes. He didn't want to spoil the moment.

Crowley said nothing, but soft lips were pressed against each eyelid and Aziraphale felt a breath of relief escaping him. He didn't have to worry, did he? Crowley was still there, was still with him and nothing, not even the Apocalypse had changed that.

"Can you do that for me, love?" Crowley whispered, breath hot against Aziraphale's closed eyes.

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, a little overwhelmed by the whole thing and perhaps a little unsure if he _could_ do as Crowley wanted. It was as easy for him to praise Crowley as it was to dig his fingers into his own shortcomings.

"Yes," he said, barely audible.

"Make me believe it," Crowley whispered.

"Yes." A little louder.

"You call that convincing?" Crowley asked softly. "Again."

"Yes!" Aziraphale slid his hands down to hold onto Crowley's hips, hard.

"Good," Crowley all but crooned, kissing his way down Aziraphale's cheek, continuing down his neck. "Now I believe you were praising me and I was going to attempt to make you lose your mind with pleasure." There was a lightness to his voice that made Aziraphale's heart swell with pride.

"Yes, how remiss of me," Aziraphale said, feeling so much lighter. "Light of my life, you are the sun that warms my skin on a lovely summer's day. Your smile lifts my spirit on a grey and dreary day."

Crowley exhaled softly against his sternum and worked his way farther down. "Keep going, I can take it."

"You came to me on the wall of the Garden of Eden, you showed no fear and so much curiosity, and I was so alone, so lonely, your kindness broke open my frail shell, the one that I had built around me in an attempt to make my lonely posting a little less hard."

"You were so bright up there," Crowley mumbled against his skin. "You were like a beacon in so many ways. I expected you to smite me right off that wall."

"How could I?" Aziraphale asked, opening his eyes and blinking against the soft light of the room. "You brazenly engaged me and listened to my worries. You didn't take me being without a weapon as an opportunity to attack."

"Angel, I'm not stupid," Crowley muttered, shifting to slide down and rest his head on Aziraphale's thigh. "You might not have had your flaming sword, but you were by no means what I would have considered an easy target."

"You were so beautiful in the sunlight," Aziraphale carried on, feeling his chest filling with the trust and pride that he could hear in Crowley's voice. There was room for so much - it had been almost empty for so long. "Your hair was red as fire, your wings were so eye-catching. I'd never seen a demon's wings close enough to appreciate their beauty, but they made me want to touch, to see if they felt as sleek as they looked."

A fluttery sound and two black arches filled his view.

"All you had to do was ask," Crowley mumbled, almost hypnotically. He ran a finger along the inside of Aziraphale's thigh. "All you ever have to do is ask. Anything, angel, surely you know that."

"I'm-" Aziraphale gasped when Crowley scratched lightly over the sensitive skin between hip and thigh, making Aziraphale involuntary thrust upward, jostling Crowley. "I'm getting there," he managed to force out, trying hard to ignore the chuckle from somewhere near his groin area.

"That's all I'm asking, angel, that's all I'm asking," Crowley mumbled, leaning forward, pressing his face against the side of Aziraphale's cock.

The move had Aziraphale reaching half for the wings to hold onto something and then realising that perhaps breaking a wing on his beloved would put more than just a damper on things. Instead, he let his hands fall to the duvet under him and dug his fingers into that instead.

"You can touch, you know," Crowley said, licking from the root of Aziraphale's erection to the tip, again without any kind of warning.

"No, trust me when I say I really can't," Aziraphale gasped.

Crowley sucked in the head and he'd probably have kept going if not interrupted by a tearing noise. Lifting his head he looked up at Aziraphale.

He was quite a sight to see and Aziraphale feared for a moment that he'd lose all sense of self-control, but as the moment stretched, his heightened sense of arousal crested and settled a little. Apparently the whole praising thing wasn't just getting Crowley hot and bothered. It most certainly also had an effect on Aziraphale himself.

But oh, what a sight he made. His hair was a mess, not the styled mess it sometimes was, but an utter gorgeous mess of red hair sticking out at odd angles. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were vibrant, not a spot of white to see.

"Ah," Crowley said, apparently realising what the problem was. His eyes softened somewhat and the corner of his mouth lifted into an almost-smile. "Just hang on then, angel."

Aziraphale wasn't sure what to expect, but he dug his fingers deeper into the duvet. It could be fixed, afterwards. He watched with bated breath as Crowley shifted and the large, black wings above him shifted with him until Crowley was straddling his lower legs, hands on Aziraphale's hips. 

The wings descended over them, and it became all that Aziraphale could see. Two outstretched wings above him, sheltering him from light, soft and sleek where they brushed against his skin. One caught lightly on his left nipple and a long drawn out moan escaped him.

A breathy chuckle answered him right before Crowley slid his mouth down over Aziraphale's cock, taking him into his throat as someone very obviously had no gag reflex worth mentioning. For a moment all Aziraphale could focus on was the blackness of the feathers around him and the wet suction around his erection. And again Crowley lowered his wings to brush them against Aziraphale's skin.

_This is going to kill me,_ Aziraphale thought to himself. Or perhaps discorporate him. 

He wanted to keep praising Crowley as he had before, but he couldn't find the words, and even if he had, he'd never have been able to string together a sentence. He hadn't expected to affect himself this way.

Crowley lifted his head and slid back until only the head was in his mouth, his split tongue wrapping around it in ways that a human tongue would most certainly never have managed. He pulled off with a wet pop, letting go of Aziraphale's hip to hold it in place.

"Am I good, angel, because you stopped singing my praise." There was a strange vulnerability to Crowley's question and it took Aziraphale a moment to catch onto it.

"Yo-you are so good to me," Aziraphale managed. "I am completely out of sorts, Crowley, but I need you to know that you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, Heaven _or_ Earth and I love you so much I am lost for words."

Crowley's eyes softened as he watched Aziraphale. Then he nodded and went back to what he had been doing.

Aziraphale could feel how hard he was against his legs, the little movements of rolling his hips against his shins. There was definitely enough precome there to ease the way and a second later Aziraphale didn't have the mental space to consider it.

He'd completely forgotten how dexterous Crowley's tongue was and how well Crowley could put it to use. There was no way to mistake the torturous touch of the tip right at his slit and he knew perfectly well he would have no control over his corporation in this. Well, he could use a miracle to keep himself from coming, but that would most certainly be cheating.

Not to mention, he would need presence of mind to do so, and his mind was most certainly not present at the moment. It was very busy getting sucked out through his dick, no doubt, or perhaps being launched into space to orbit the planet for a while.

Everything slowed down and sped up at the same time, worlds died, worlds were born and stars went supernova on the inside of his eyelids. All of it blinding and incapacitating him.

The world swam back into view like a lazy whale. The bedroom looked the same, but he found he was no longer held down on the bed by Crowley's weight, but rather cradled in his arms and the majestic black wings.

He swallowed back tears. He wasn't sure he could explain to Crowley right at that very moment that they would be tears of joy and not a sign of sadness.

He wanted to say something, anything, but his voice felt broken like if he tried to speak, it would splinter completely.

"It's o'ay," Crowley mumbled against his temple. "I got you. Let go."

And a tension that Aziraphale hadn't been aware of holding through his whole corporation eased. First a little, then more and then he let go, knowing that he would be caught and held.

* * *

8.1 Well not literally singing, but in the metaphorical sense. Return to text


	11. Interlude II (Eric)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which you get to hear a bit more about Eric and about one of his otherselves: Igor. Plot shall return for the final chapter after this little interlude ;)_

Eric put the last of the cups in the dishwasher. He quite liked the little machines that humans came up with to save time and manual labour. Such sloth, such laziness, if it didn't mean they just ran around doing other things at roughly the same speed.

Humans.

Eric filled the compartment with the wash for the machine and turned it on. He was glad to see some of his fellow demons and a growing handful of angels seemingly taking to this little oasis in the human world. And he was quite chuffed that both sides had silently agreed that the old bookshop was neutral ground.

He knew it wasn't entirely down to him being there and his organisational skills, but that it was just as much the fact that the grounds were permeated with the Grace of Aziraphale's and the demonic signature of Crowley's.

Every shelving unit still there, every plank of wood in the floor, all seats and walls and ceilings and stairs. There was a feeling to the place that was neither of Heaven nor of Hell. Not necessarily welcoming or not welcoming, but a warning to be on one's best behaviour.

There were still books on the shelves, but Eric had made sure that nothing was of any value. All Aziraphale's first editions and collector's editions were safely stored away, if not already moved to the cottage. It still amused Eric to some extent how long it had taken Crowley to realise that he was being, well, not played. Because Aziraphale wouldn't do that to him. More like gently coaxed into domesticity.

A domesticated demon - Hell would sooner burn itself down than accept this, but oddly enough it had not gotten back to any of the higher-ups. Even with the amount of demons passing through this shop, more than a few of them having made Crowley's reluctant acquaintance already. Eric was well aware that Hell to some extent left Crowley and Aziraphale alone because of the whole holy water and hellfire debacle, which Eric still hadn't figured out how they'd pulled off. Not that he really wanted to know. What he didn't know, he couldn't by mistake share with the wrong party.

Besides, according to some of his demonic visitors, it seemed that it had paid off for the two to just let Heaven and Hell draw their own conclusions, and Hell seemed to think that Crowley had bagged an angel and Heaven was of the conviction that Aziraphale had a demon under his control.

They would never, in a million years, guess that they were both wrong. Crowley might, on occasion, tease Eric with the fact that he read romance novels but that was perhaps because he seemed to be in the middle of living one. You'd have to be blind to not see how at ease and in love those two were with each other.

And Eric treasured every moment he was allowed to witness it. He'd even started working on his own romance novel. [B.1] A story about a demon and an angel and their trials and tribulations. And, of course, it would have a happy ending. Eric was very fond of those, and Aziraphale's suggested reading list had held nothing but that kind so far, so Eric trusted the angel explicitly.

If anyone had suggested to Eric at the end of the failed Apocalypse that he'd be running his own little café slash bookshop, he'd have laughed and felt a stab of pain at this. To be so free to walk among humans and _learn_ wasn't something he'd considered he'd ever be allowed.

However, management had become slack, and most demons seemed to just carry on in a rut of where they'd been before. Just a few of them had begun leaving on longer and longer trips to Earth and while it had been easy enough to serve as the meeting point and helper, Eric was glad that he'd employed a couple of his alter-selves as well.

Especially Igor, who was currently cleaning the big, shining, black and chrome coffee maker with the loving attention of the obsessed. No one seemed to be able to tell the difference between them and quite frankly, Eric wasn't used to anyone differentiating between them. They were all him and he was all them. Variations to the theme and sides of a dice etc..

However, both Crowley, when he could be arsed, as well as Aziraphale could tell the difference and used their chosen names. Well, Aziraphale did. Crowley, if in a bad mood, would usually just grunt and eye them with distrust.

Eric understood. This had been the place he had frequented for so long and had considered part of his dominion. Staked his claim, more or less. The fact that he allowed other demons to come in said something about how not-the-usual-run-of-the-mill-demon he was. It also said something about the sway Aziraphale held over him. Aziraphale led by example and expected the best manners from everyone, including Crowley.

The only difference was that Crowley occasionally spoke with Igor on nearly friendly terms. He'd laughed and then sighed when Igor had shared the origin of his chosen name. Then told Igor about Mary Shelley and called Aziraphale over to have him do the same.

Eric knew that Crowley claimed that he tolerated Igor because he made the best coffee, which he did, but he could tell that Crowley had approved of Igor's choice as well as his reasons for said choice. The impromptu history lesson had merely been a little extra that had made Igor spend the rest of the day on cloud nine. And when Aziraphale had handed him a story about a different Igor, the demon had signed over whatever was left of his soul to the principality. Like all of them. Some days Eric wondered how someone as angelic could hold such a sway over an entire group of demons. [B.2]

Putting the last of the detritus from the work desk away, Eric went to the door and locked it, turning the sign to closed just as someone knocked on the door. Sharing a quick look with Igor, he unlocked it again and carefully opened it enough to check who was outside. He very nearly slammed the door again to activate the wards that Crowley had so painstakingly set up for them a month earlier.

Just because they acted like a safe haven of sorts, didn't mean they should stupidly invite trouble inside. And trouble had just come a-knocking.

"Please, I need ...help."

Eric shared another look with Igor, this one pretty helpless. He couldn't just turn anyone away. Igor shrugged and stepped back into the shadows of the shelves. He'd be there if needed.

Opening the door fully, Eric took a deep breath and let in one ragged-looking archangel.

* * *

B.1 The reader shouldn't worry about this, he wasn't stupid, he of course worked under a pseud. Hell wouldn't take kindly to one of its minions writing fluffy romance. Return to text

B.2 Aziraphale had first been introduced to these stories by an elderly gentleman who would always come by when passing through Soho. Not to purchase any books, but to sit in the bookstore and take in the soul of it, as he'd put it. He'd also left Aziraphale one time with the lovely idea of:

"Knowledge = power = energy = matter = mass; a good bookshop is just a genteel Black Hole that knows how to read."

If the lovely reader is not familiar with the Igors of Discworld, they should go familiarize themselves right away. They are amazing. Return to text


	12. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which an archangel is adviced and strikes a bargain with a principality and his demon._

Now one might wonder what happened to Gabriel after his disappearance from Heaven and one might also realise that it was indeed the archangel Gabriel who had sought help in the most unlikely of places. One could also pray that he would stay out of the way of our loving principality and serpent, but this would, perhaps, be too much to hope for.

This was why, a few days later, on a Friday afternoon, after a quick trip through the wardrobe to London, Aziraphale stepped into their kitchen to be met with the most perplexing scene. He'd gone to London in the first place after Eric had called him, bewildered after a strange visit from, of all people, Gabriel - Eric had most assuredly not told Gabriel anything, but it paid off being careful when dealing with Heaven - or Hell for that matter.

"I thought you said you wouldn't taint your body with gross matter," was the first thing that came out of Aziraphale's mouth when he walked in on Crowley and Gabriel sitting on either side of the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of both of them. He wondered how Gabriel had found them, because Eric had most assuredly not told him where they were.

He ran his eyes over Crowley. Nothing seemed to be out of place, and his beloved hadn't been discorporated or destroyed, as he thought Gabriel might feel inclined to do. He had been rather upset about the whole End of the World not really ending after all.

"Angel, I think you should sit down with us," Crowley said, getting up himself to pour tea for Aziraphale. It had been set out just waiting for him. 

A chill ran down Aziraphale's spine. Gabriel looked like his corporation had aged a century or two, at least around the eyes. He looked so very tired.

"Very well," Aziraphale agreed, taking a seat next to the chair Crowley had vacated, to put him on Crowley's side, opposite the archangel.

"Your… friend," Gabriel said, avoiding direct eye contact, "I thought he was communicating with Her."

Straight to the point then. Aziraphale gave Crowley a small smile in thanks when he put a cup of tea down in front of him before taking his own seat again. "No one has heard from Her since the flood, Gabriel. Well, maybe you and the other archangels, but the rest of us haven't," Aziraphale said, trying to be gentle about it.

It had hurt the first millennium or two. And sometimes, even now, he could feel the emptiness where Her voice normally was. The Metatron just wasn't the same.

"She doesn't care," Gabriel said, rather forlorn.

"I think She does," Crowley said quietly. "But maybe she wants to let humanity run its course."

"She doesn't care about _us_ ," Gabriel said, voice low and sad. And there was no doubt as to who he was referring to with _us_. It really was like all of Heaven had forgotten what She had asked of them when She'd created mankind - to love humans as they would love Her.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. "We are Her children, like the humans are, Gabriel. And like any adult should, She has stepped back to let us grow on our own." He doubted it would make it through to Gabriel. Even on a good day the archangel had a bad habit of ignoring any sort of advice given. Unless he was the one giving it.

"The Great Plan," Gabriel mumbled and then turned a rather wild eye on Aziraphale. "Why didn't you fall? How can you not have _fallen_?" His voice rose at the end.

Crowley hissed, making to stand and possibly do something very stupid. Aziraphale put a hand on his thigh and squeezed, waiting for him to tear his eyes away from Gabriel and give him his full attention.

"It's alright, my dear," Aziraphale said, his voice low and quiet. "I think I know why he's asking." It didn't mean it didn't sting. He turned to Gabriel. "I never lost my faith in Her. I still trust in Her. I still love and adore Her. As I love and adore all Her creations." [9.1] He squeezed Crowley's thigh again. Possibly a little higher this time, hearing the sharp intake of breath.

"It's not how it's supposed to work," Gabriel muttered, taking a sip of his coffee, cradling the hot mug between his hands like it was a lifeline.

"Says who?" Crowley asked. "I think you angels lost your way at some point."

"You lost _Her_ way," Aziraphale added, shifting his hand to take Crowley's.

"But we didn't fall _either_!" Gabriel said, his dark eyes wide with despair.

"Like She released the flood once, She cast out the discontented only once," Aziraphale said, squeezing Crowley's hand hard enough that he knew it must hurt. "I think, and this is only what _I_ think, She expects us to find our own way in the dark just like She expects the humans to do. We were Her children, still are, but we must grow and we must learn."

He met Gabriel's eyes. "Must there be such a divide between us? Are we not as varied as the humans in personality, in mind? Do we not deserve to find the right way to the right destination?"

Gabriel gave him a tired look, his lips twisting as if he was trying to smile.

Aziraphale felt almost sorry for him. At least in his capacity to forgive, he would try. "Gabriel, perhaps you should take some time and try to discover your own journey? Would She not want this? For you to be sure and strong as you were before?"

"But if She doesn't listen?"

Aziraphale allowed himself a small smile at this. "Who says She isn't?" he asked. "You said it yourself, She doesn't speak anymore, but we can't know that She isn't listening." He turned his head for a moment and met Crowley's eyes, the softness and adoration in them nearly physical between them. Then he turned to watch Gabriel again. "It is natural to doubt everything as you grow up, yourself, your parents, your surroundings. Do not despair, but learn from it instead, Gabriel. At least trust in Her to listen even if there is no reply."

There was a knock at the door and Crowley swore under his breath.

"It's alright, love, go see who it is and Gabriel and I will be fine." Aziraphale turned his attention back to the archangel. "Won't we, Gabriel?" He knew from Crowley that the angels had been most upset and unsettled by his apparent immunity to Hellfire, and he wasn't above using it to his advantage.

It was probably why Crowley sometimes, in a very loving and admiring tone, would call him a right bastard.

Crowley looked like he wanted to ask if he was sure, but thankfully he didn't. Not that Aziraphale felt it showed weakness, but he was fairly sure that at least Gabriel could read it as such. No reason to give him any leverage.

Aziraphale turned his attention back to Gabriel. Who in turn was watching them with a look of consternation and something that Aziraphale hesitated to call envy.

"Gabriel, while I have you alone," Aziraphale said, feeling that rolling in the pit of the stomach, like he was standing on the edge, high up, looking into a bottomless deep just before unfolding his wings and letting himself go. "I feel I have to make sure that you are made aware that any aggression against Crowley is an aggression against me, and vice versa."

"Are you threatening me?" There was no warning in Gabriel's voice, just surprise and more than a little wonder.

"I am not that much of an idiot, Gabriel, you know that." Aziraphale took a deep breath. "Let's just say it's a piece of advice that should be considered."

Gabriel nodded slowly. 

"It's getting a little too crowded in here for my taste," Crowley told him. Behind him trailed a worried looking Michael. "And I really don't like this one either. Maybe we should send out invitations? Get some demons in as well." The latter was added with a lot of acid.

Michael looked about as thrilled to be there as Crowley was about her being there. And Aziraphale much felt the same way. He hadn't forgotten how she'd happily handed over the Holy Water to kill Crowley.

"I am here for Gabriel, not the two of you," she said.

"And if I don't want to come?" Gabriel asked, sighing deeply.

Michael looked as if that question was the most ludicrous she'd ever heard.

"Then you don't have to," Aziraphale hedged. He was unsure where they stood with Gabriel at the moment, but he knew that this might be a turning point. He took a chance and looked at Crowley, hoping he wouldn't start arguing. "Just know that no matter what you choose, you can always come talk to us. If you feel like you need it. Consider our home neutral ground." If he could get Gabriel to agree to that - and say it out loud. It would be Law (TM).

He could feel Crowley gearing up, then going quiet. The whole tension emanating from him changed in the blink of an eye, and Aziraphale knew he'd thought of the same.

Michael opened her mouth to argue, but Gabriel narrowed his eyes and stared at Aziraphale, who held his breath.

"You will tell me if She speaks to you?" Gabriel said. "To either of you?" He looked up at Crowley before turning his attention back to Aziraphale.

Crowley walked behind Aziraphale and put his hands on his shoulders and Aziraphale couldn't help but lean back into the heat of his body. This was a promise quite easily given.

"Yes, if She speaks to us, we'll let you know."

"Of course," Crowley agreed, fingertips tightening on Aziraphale's shoulders, telling him just how tense the demon was.

"Gabriel," Michael said, a warning underlying her tone of voice.

"No, I know what I'm doing, Michael." Gabriel cocked his head to the side. "You'll allow me to visit and ask questions?"

"About what?" Crowley asked, suspicion thick in his voice.

"Anything, everything, humans, earth." Gabriel shrugged. "Her."

"We'll share what we know, just let us know before you drop in," Aziraphale added, remembering with some mild embarrassment how Michael has walked in on them.

Michael muttered something along the lines of 'Oh God, yes, don't walk in unannounced.'

Crowley turned to her and Aziraphale just knew that he was sticking his tongue out at her. Both as an act of defiance as well as reminding Michael what she'd caught them in the middle of. Sometimes the love of his life was all of five years old.

Gabriel met his eyes and the tiredness was pulled aside like a veil for a moment. There was a quietness and calm that hadn't been there a moment ago. "I am aware that by granting this place neutrality, I offer you more protection than Michael feels you deserve. I haven't forgotten that you helped stop the Apocalypse, and I am not quite at the point where I can forgive you that. But… I also feel I need to learn. I have grown stale, complacent, over the years, and in doing so, I have failed to do what I was created to do. I have to do better, _be_ better."

Aziraphale wasn't going to argue with that, so he just nodded once.

Gabriel stood and Aziraphale followed suit, feeling Crowley move to accommodate him, but staying close to him, close enough that he could still feel his body heat.

"I don't know if I can say thank you yet," Gabriel said, holding out his hand, "but I appreciate you not turning me away without a chance to say what I needed."

Aziraphale took his hand and shook it, once, before letting go. "We are not deviants or monsters or however you wish to describe us, we just want to live as we feel like."

Gabriel made a face. "Yes, not sure I understand that part, but perhaps I am not meant to."

"Perhaps you will in time," Aziraphale said, smiling as Crowley's hand slipped into his.

He was so uncharacteristically quiet, and Aziraphale fairly melted with the knowledge that Crowley was trusting him to negotiate this. And he knew, with clarity, had it been Beelzebub on the other side of the table, he would have done the same, trusted in Crowley whole-heartedly.

"I'll… be seeing you around, then," Gabriel said, walking over to where Michael was waiting for him. With a nod, they both disappeared.

"Fuck, good riddance, and ffffffff-".

Aziraphale tipped Crowley's shades up and leaned in to touch their foreheads together in a quick succession of actions, palms framing his face. Crowley's eyes were wide with fear and adrenaline and Aziraphale could feel his own heart beating double time. 

"I love you so much," he told Crowley and before Crowley could answer, he kissed him, long and hard as Crowley melted into him, long arms wrapped securely around him.

* * *

"Do you think we should be worried about Gabriel? That we can trust him?" Crowley asked, rubbing his face against Aziraphale's naked shoulder. Outside, the rain was drumming on the roof, while inside the bedroom, Crowley was winding down from a rather heavy round of showing his angel just how much he appreciated him.

"I think perhaps we need to be vigilant," Aziraphale said slowly. "But so far I think we might just be alright. Even if the archangels won't agree, and that is a worry, angels and demons alike are beginning to experience free will." He scratched across Crowley's shoulder blade, and the demon shivered in delight. "You and I both know just how powerful that is. And how heady."

"Not arguing there, angel, as long as you're okay with me setting up a few more wards." It was possible that Aziraphale felt that Gabriel's promise was enough, but he'd like to make sure. Who knew, it could be a Lord of Hell next time someone knocked on their door.

"You're the one who let Gabriel in," Aziraphale said with a huff. "Who knows how he found us in the first place."

"Well," Crowley drawled, "unlike Adam, we can actually be tracked if you know what you're looking for."

Aziraphale made a noise of agreement.

However, the angel wasn't wrong in regards to Crowley having let Gabriel in. His first instinct had been to defend their home to his last breath, but something about the archangel had piqued his curiosity. Finding Gabriel at the front door hadn't been high on the list of things Crowley had ever expected. He'd fully expected to get smitten, smote, whatever, but Gabriel had more or less just collapsed and nearly started to cry.

Crowley had been very far out of his depth that day and he still couldn't quite shake the image. The Gabriel who had first accosted him in the street and then knocked on their door had been a far cry from the high-and-mighty bastard who'd told him to 'die already' during Aziraphale's trial in heaven. Burying his face against Aziraphale's neck, he kissed the reddened skin. He'd already sucked a mark or two into it, but he knew how much Aziraphale enjoyed it.

"You know I want nothing more than to protect our home," he mumbled. There was a patch of skin not quite as red as the rest. Time to rectify that.

"I know, dear," Aziraphale replied, barely audible as he twisted under Crowley. "You are my knight in shining armour, so good to me."

A shiver ran down Crowley's spine. Damn it, but it always did things to him when Aziraphale started doing this. Now if he was lucky, there might be some praise in there as well. Another shiver went through him.

"Are you cold, darling?" Aziraphale asked and Crowley knew perfectly well that the angel was aware, he was in fact not cold at all. The bastard knew very well what he was doing to Crowley and revelled in it.

Sinking his teeth into the tendon where shoulder and neck met, Crowley hung on for dear life as he was manhandled and a moment later pressed into the mattress by a mock-irate angel. Now there it was, that was how one took care of one's partner. And Crowley intended to keep doing so for whatever was left of eternity.

* * *

9.1 Above Heaven, God's heart swelled like a supernova. An angel had opened his heart to a demon, his home the Fallen as well as the ones that hadn't. This would never fix everything, but one little stubborn principality had managed to do what She'd asked and he'd never forgotten to love Her creations, great and small, from mountains to serpents. Return to text


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which a principality, former Guardian of the Eastern Gate (TM), former Bookshop Owner in Soho (TM) and his demon, Original Tempter (TM), Serpent of Eden (TM), Deliverer of the Antichrist (the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness) (TM) get their happy end, a picnic on a hilltop and the future at their feet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this last chapter/epilogue also has sex in it (christ almighty why am I warning you about this? You got this far, you'd probably lynch me if there _wasn't_ smut in this bit XD )
> 
> Also, I try to kill the world with fluff - just in case you haven't noticed XD

Crowley put the picnic basket on the kitchen table. They weren't going far, just up the hill where there was a small cluster of trees. Far enough from any prying eyes and with a little miracle, even accidental passersby wouldn't see anything.

Not that Crowley was planning anything, but he'd gotten better at the whole cuddling thing and was finally getting quite good at it, if he was to say so himself. And going by the pride almost pouring off Aziraphale, yeah, he wasn't doing half bad.

There was something off about the sound of Aziraphale's shoes against the wooden stairs as he came down to the ground floor. Crowley turned while leaning on the kitchen table and nearly missed and stumbled.

"Oh, angel, you spoil me," he said. [C.1]

Aziraphale stepped lightly down from the two last steps of the stairs and twirled to let him get a better look.

"You've been shopping without me, haven't you?" Crowley asked, grinning as he took in the whole picture. It _was_ a warm summer's day outside, but he hadn't expected Aziraphale to change into her female form and to wear a lovely floral dress. Very light, very thin, barely above the knees.

"I felt I should have a few surprises for you," Aziraphale said coyly.

Crowley pushed his sunglasses up onto his head and narrowed his eyes at the angel. "You might have a point with the light dress. It's very warm outside."

Aziraphale's smile grew a little wider. "Quite so, my dear. Are you joining me?"

"You know, I think I will." Crowley closed his eyes for a moment and his body, used to the changes, melted into its female form as well. At a thought, her clothes turned from his usual ensemble to a lovely short dress; red on top, black at the bottom and sleeveless.

There was no doubt where Aziraphale's eyes were lingering, though. "That's very low cut, my love."

Crowley pushed away from the kitchen table and into a pair of strong arms. "You like it, though," she all but purred.

"You know me so well," Aziraphale said, tilting her head to invite a kiss.

If Crowley hadn't been planning this picnic for a while, she'd have just allowed it to go on and on. But she wanted the whole package. And she had plans. Breaking the kiss enough to speak, she grinned. "The bubbles are getting warm, angel. We have a picnic to attend."

Aziraphale hummed deep in her throat and smoothed her hands down over Crowley's hips. She was warm and lovely against her. "Pish posh, dear, I know it'll have the perfect temperature when we pour it."

Crowley sniffed, mock indignation a hard thing to pull off when pressed against the ample bosom of a principality. "Just saying I have plans, angel."

Aziraphale grinned and kissed her quickly before stepping back.

Crowley felt, for lack of a better word, bereft. It didn't help much that Aziraphale took her hand, lifted it and pressed a dry kiss to her fingertips. "Lead on, my dear, I believe I was promised a picnic."

Crowley rolled her eyes good-naturedly. Turning the hand which Aziraphale was still holding, she curled her fingers through the angel's and grabbed the picnic basket with the other.

The breathless giggle escaping Aziraphale was a heck of a catalyst and Crowley felt her chest constrict, her breath stuttering a little. She owed the angel and her tenacity that she could feel this without completely falling apart not knowing what to do next. It helped that she had a plan today.

The walk to the top of the hill was done in an easy silence that only made Crowley feel all the softer.

It had taken a while to get to this. Where she didn't feel like she needed to fill the silence. There was still, she knew, some jitters left in her. Especially when Aziraphale praised her. A thank you was okay, but when the angel decided to go all out, Crowley had little to hide behind. She really wasn't nice, but for her angel, she was willing to try anything.

It wasn't easy to admit you loved as deeply as she did, it was even harder to accept the firm praise that Aziraphale would shower her with, assuring her that she loved Crowley every bit as much as the demon loved her.

"What made you go for the female body today?" she asked the angel. She wasn't complaining, but she _was_ curious.

Aziraphale smiled and squeezed her hand. "It's a hot day and while I have been dressing down since we moved out here-"

Crowley couldn't help the snigger-snort escaping her. "Dressing down, angel?"

Aziraphale huffed primly, then laughed. "Even shirtsleeves would be too stuffy for today," she admitted readily. She tugged at her skirt with her free hand. "And with the summer dress I'd gotten, I felt it would fit perfectly."

Crowley couldn't agree more. "It looks perfect on you, angel," she said, feeling heat flush her cheeks. It was the heat. The unseasonably warm summer day.

Aziraphale squeezed her hand, letting her know, wordlessly, that she wasn't fooling anyone, least of all herself.

Reluctantly, Crowley let go of Aziraphale's hand when they arrived at the picnic spot that she had been scouting out for quite some time now. A snap of the wrist and the picnic blanket folded itself out and drifted to the ground like an overgrown feather.

Holding out her hand, Crowley helped Aziraphale sit down on the blanket and put the picnic basket on it as well before joining the ensemble. She gently tapped Aziraphale's hand when she reached out to lift the lid of the basket.

"No peeking, angel," she scolded. She'd made sure everything in there was perfect and there was no way that she'd let the angel spoil her surprise. Most of all, because Crowley knew Aziraphale loved this kind of surprise. And she wanted to savour each and every little wiggle that would most certainly be on display as Aziraphale savoured her treats.

The sun, being almost at its highest in the sky, was beaming down at them even through the leaves of the tree and Crowley did, for a moment, consider miracaling up a huge parasol to cover them, but it wasn't too bad and, she at least, quite liked being warm.

She shot a quick look at Aziraphale and smiled. Yes, the angel was enjoying the sun as well, stretching her bare legs out on the blanket, leaning back on her hands.

"Well, dearest, what did you plan for?" she asked Crowley, who in turn beamed at her and pulled the basket over to flip the double lids open.

First came out the two champagne flutes and the bottle of perfectly chilled Crémant d'Alsace, which she knew was one of Aziraphale's favourites. And the angel did light up when Crowley handed her the flutes and opened the bottle, the cork flying skywards, nearly hitting an innocent duck as it flew over the cosy setting.

Pouring them both nearly a full flute, Crowley clinked her glass against Aziraphale's, not breaking their eye contact as they both sipped.

A soft sigh escaped Aziraphale. "You say I spoil you, but it is mutual, my dear. I haven't had this one in quite a while, you know."

"I know," Crowley said, grinning. "You don't like how giggly and lose it makes you."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and shook her head. "No, I like it too much. It does indeed bring my inhibitions down much faster than most other drinks and you know why I couldn't make a move in the past, before Armageddon."

Crowley stopped from where she was reaching into the picnic basket. Slowly she tipped the lid back down and shuffled over to the angel. She lifted one leg up and slid down to straddle Aziraphale's lap. She was still holding her glass in one hand and she sunk the fingers of the other into Aziraphale's soft, fluffy curls.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale took a sip of her bubbles, then she did the same. Leaning in then to get a kiss, she marvelled at the sweet and cool residue she tasted on Aziraphale's tongue as it lazily slid against her own.

When she broke the kiss, she looked down into Aziraphale's eyes. They seemed, if possible, even bigger than normal. The blue was merely a thin ring around the black void of her pupils.

She did this, _Crowley_ did this to her angel. Nothing and no one else could and ever would. She would fight them to her dying breath and beyond if she had to.

"You're beautiful, angel," Crowley whispered, not even feeling the least heat rush to her face. She wasn't lying, she was speaking the honest to God truth. She might be a demon, lying might be on her CV, but she'd never lie to Aziraphale. [C.2]

"Thank you," Aziraphale said, blushing prettily, her eyelids halfway hiding her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, she downed the rest of her wine, flung the glass away to the side, took Crowley's glass, did the same, much to Crowley's surprise and amusement.

"Angel," she began but was cut off as Aziraphale twisted under her, rolling them over to press Crowley into the soft blanket.

She blinked up against the sunlight, torn between regretting not setting up a parasol to shield them and struck with awe at the silhouette of Aziraphale above her, the sunlight bathing her outline while the rest of her was in darkness.

"Allow me," Aziraphale said quietly, her voice a little deeper and a little rougher as she breathed in deeply and rolled her shoulders back.

A whooshing sound filled the air, and all of a sudden the sun no longer blinded Crowley. Above her, above them both, was a canopy of fluffy whiteness, large wings arching to shade them from the sun.

Crowley drew a deep, shaky breath. The sunlight shining through the wings made them look iridescent, the light shining at its brightest around Aziraphale's head, giving her the most magnificent halo to ever have been borne by any angel, archangel or principality. It was possibly what painters through the ages had tried to catch on canvas, but had never managed.

Reaching up with a hand that shook less than she'd expected, she touched Aziraphale's cheek with two fingers. So radiant and so beautiful. "You undo me, angel," she whispered in the safety of their small shelter under white wings.

Today it was protection from the sun, back then it had been the rain.

"No more than you do me, my dear," Aziraphale said, voice barely audible.

Crowley wanted to argue that, wanted to speak up, but she could not find the words. Instead, she cupped her hand against Aziraphale's cheek, watching the angel close her eyes, breathing deeply.

"Lay with me?" she asked instead.

Aziraphale's smile was far more radiant than the sun itself, blinding, and Crowley would be willing to lose her eyesight if this was the last thing she saw, would be the one thing burned into her retinas for the rest of eternity.

A snap of Aziraphale's fingers and they were as naked as they could ever be in these corporations.

"Impatient, angel?" Crowley asked, more than a little breathless.

"Do you wish to deal with the time it might take to get out of our dresses without a miracle?" Aziraphale asked, her perfect eyebrow arched in perfect humour.

Crowley wanted to argue that yes, she quite liked getting Aziraphale, male or female, out of her clothes. It was possible that the layers her angel always wore made it all the more fun. In some things, however, Aziraphale had no patience.

She never managed to speak up, because any coherent words died a bloody death in the moan that escaped her as Aziraphale rolled her hips, her pubic hair soft and tickling against Crowley's skin, the movement a hard, quick pressure against Crowley's pelvic bone.

Letting her head fall back, Crowley was more than happy to just follow Aziraphale's lead. And lead her angel did. A moment or a century later, she felt Aziraphale move, straddling her thigh, pressing her own muscular one in-between Crowley's.

"Angel," Crowley moaned.

"Hush," Aziraphale said, honey-sweet voice layered over a core of steel. "Just go with the flow."

And that was all Crowley _could_ do. Flow down the roaring river, trust Aziraphale that she wouldn't end up bruised and battered on the rocks.

Leaning down, Aziraphale pressed them together, hands gently cupping Crowley's shoulder blades, holding her, moving against her with a slow, measured roll, not sprinting towards one goal or another, just gently spiralling them both upward in lazy circles, taking Crowley with her like a gentle updraft underneath her wings.

Crowley let her hands slide up over the swell of Aziraphale's bottom, into the dip of the small of her back. Not urging her to move faster, just enjoying the soft feel of sun-warm skin under her hands.

The almost torturously slow slip and slide of Aziraphale's thigh over her wet vulva was a heated counterpoint to the pressure of Aziraphale's lovely breasts against her own, sensitive nipple catching sensitive nipple as they rutted against each other, trading openmouthed, wet kisses.

Moving her hands a little higher, Crowley felt her fingers slide in between the downy soft feathers where wings extended from the shoulder blades. So soft and inviting, so perfect to dig her fingertips into.

Judging from the moan and breathless stutter against Crowley's lips, they were just as sensitive there as her own were. And she wasn't above or below using such knowledge to her advantage. Digging in a little harder, she kneaded the muscles, scratched at the feathers.

It all earned her the most magnificent reaction. A shiver ran through Aziraphale and Crowley found herself pinned, unable to move, the angel rearing up above her, eyes wide and unseeing, hips stuttering forward and wetness coating Crowley's thigh even more than before.

Even if Crowley hadn't been teetering on the edge of her own orgasm for quite some time already, she wouldn't have been able to hold back as Aziraphale ground her thigh forward, showing Crowley just how she looked when she lost the last vestiges of self-control. 

Aziraphale all but collapsed on top of her and Crowley put her arms around her, breathing hard, feeling the angel's chest moving up and down from much the same predicament.

Crowley closed her eyes. They could stay like this for a little longer, her blissed-out angel a blanket on top of her, grounding her in ways she'd never dreamt she might need or _want_. Above them Aziraphale's wings fluttered and moved slightly with the breeze, still providing them with any kind of shelter they might need, rain or shine, it didn't matter.

Smiling to herself, Crowley held onto her angel and let herself drift off for a little while, her fingers still nestled in soft, downy feathers.

* * *

C.1 Some might argue that there'd been mutual spoiling going on since the Garden of Eden. Return to text

C.2 At least not about the important things. There were the little ones Crowley would pop into arguments, like "I'm not nice," when in fact he was being nice to Aziraphale. Or "just came across this and thought of you," when in fact Crowley had spent all day looking for this particular gift. Return to text

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who have been with me on this ride - it's been fun for me - hope it was good for you too ;)
> 
> Again, I can't thank Meinposhbastard enough for her input, yelling and absolutely stellar beta job. You spoil me, you make me grow _better_.
> 
> I'm leaving the demon boys (Erik and Igor and whatever otherselves they might have) to anyone to play with. There's now a halfway house in Soho, for angels and demons. Does Eric write his romance novels? Do they get published? Want to play with those ideas? This is an open invitation to do so ;).


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